A Year In the Life
by ephemereal
Summary: PostRENT A year in the life of our favorite gang. Ch. 42: Christmas Eve and...the end.... COMPLETED
1. Paint, Toothpicks, and A Knock

Author's Note: This, my friends, is an improv story. What is an improv story, you ask? I shall explain. Here's how it works. I write a chapter, and then at the end of each chapter I ask you for things, like an object, or an activity. You review and give me those things, and I write the next chapter using them. And yes, this story does actually have a plot. . .it just needs a little help along the way. The only rule is that I reserve the right to reject ideas. So you can give me whatever you want, but I may or may not use it. (Sorry, but I just can't work in every single little detail.) Anyway, here's what was used in this chapter.  
  
Two Random Objects: paintbrush and toothpicks (contributed by subtly crazy)  
  
An Activity: painting (contributed by Blackdiamond783)  
  
Two Rent Characters: Mark and Maureen (contributed by Maureen the Drama Queen)  
  
Time: December (contributed by subtly crazy)  
  
First line: read on and find out ^_~ (contributed by subtly crazy)  
  
Chapter 1: Paint, Toothpicks, and a Knock at the Door  
  
December 14th  
  
"What do you suppose it's like to be in a coma?" Mark asked drowsily, "Anything at all like death?"  
  
Maureen gave him an odd look, then sloshed her paint roller through the tray of purple and smacked it against the wall harder than she'd meant to. Little droplets of paint ricocheted off in all directions, splattering Maureen's tight pink "princess" t-shirt, and leaving dark splotches throughout Mark's blond hair. Mark jumped in surprise, then turned and glared at her.  
  
"What?" Maureen asked innocently.  
  
"Ya think you could hit it a little harder?" Mark asked sarcastically.  
  
"You're weird," Maureen muttered, "why were you talking about comas and death?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know. I was just thinking that if I got really high off the paint fumes, I might pass out and be in a coma, and then started wondering what that would be like. Would you dream? Would you even know that you'd been out for such a long time?"  
  
Maureen just shook her head.  
  
"You're weird, Marky. Collins had better *love* his new paint job."  
  
The gang had agreed to spend the weekend repainting Collins' apartment (rainbow at his request) as an early Christmas present to the professor.  
  
"And proud of it," Mark quipped.  
  
"What?" Maureen asked, confused.  
  
"Weird and. . .oh, nevermind."  
  
"Hey, guys, how's it going in here?" Roger greeted, entering with a bowl full of potato chips in hand.  
  
"It's going good," Mark answered, "But Rog, I didn't see 'snack break' on Joanne's work schedule."  
  
"Aw, screw Joanne's work schedule. I'm supervising." Roger answered, winking at Maureen.  
  
"My God, what is up with you guys today?" Maureen asked, throwing up her hands in exasperation.  
  
"What do you mean?" Mark asked defensively.  
  
"I.M.S.," Mimi answered, coming in behind Roger.  
  
Maureen nodded understandingly, causing the two men to look at one another and then shrug.  
  
"I.M.S.?" Roger asked curiously.  
  
"Irritable Male Syndrome," Maureen explained.  
  
"It occurs when men are forced to do household work that exceeds the usual tasks of taking out the trash and doing the dishes when they run out of clean ones," Mimi added, wrapping her arms around Roger's waist from behind.  
  
"Hey!" Mark protested, "I wouldn't talk if I were you, being that I do *Any* housework that goes on in the loft."  
  
Maureen and Mimi burst into a fit of giggles at that, leaving Mark fuming.  
  
"When do you guys discuss this stuff, anyway?" Roger asked, mystified.  
  
""When we all take mass trips to the bathroom," Mimi answered proudly, "You always wanted to know what women do in there so. . .now you do."  
  
"Lunch!" Joanne called from the other room.  
  
"What, you mean we actually get a break?" Maureen called back.  
  
"So are you a male now?" Mark asked snidely.  
  
Maureen stared at him for a long moment, then slapped him across the face and walked out of the room. Mark sighed loudly and rushed out after her.  
  
"Come on, Mo, I was just *kidding*."  
  
"Yeah, right," she muttered going over to help Joanne set the table.  
  
Roger and Mimi followed Mark out, and Roger immediately began surveying the food.  
  
"Whoa. . .there's little toothpicks in the sandwiches," Roger marveled.  
  
"Well," Joanne remarked, "Thank you for that astute observation."  
  
"Big words," Maureen warned, earning her a first class eye roll from Joanne.  
  
"Oh, toothpicks!" Collins exclaimed, appearing in the doorway. "I love you, Jo, where did you find these?"  
  
"Umm. . .the grocery store?" Joanne answered, rather taken aback by his enthusiasm.  
  
"We could build a pyramid with them," Roger suggested.  
  
"Build another. . .pyramid. . ." Maureen sang.  
  
"Mo, shut up."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"Didn't you ever build toothpick pyramids when you were a kid?" Roger asked Mimi in response to the strange look she was giving him.  
  
"Um. . .no, Rog, can't say that I did."  
  
"Well, come on then. . .you're gonna build your first toothpick pyramid."  
  
"Roger, no. . ." Mimi whined.  
  
"Oh yes!"  
  
"Oh nooo!" she squealed as Roger grabbed her and began tickling her. "Maureen, help!"  
  
"I'll save you!" Maureen laughed, rolling up a piece of bread and using it as a trumpet. She ran into the other room, grabbed a handful of blue paint, and smeared it through Roger's hair.  
  
"Oh, you did *not.*"  
  
Roger scooped Mimi into his arms, carried her into the newly painted room, and dumped her in the middle of the tray of green.  
  
"ROGER! OH MY GOD YOU ARE A DEAD MAN!"  
  
Mark joined the fight, running through the pan of red and dragging Maureen with him.  
  
Even Joanne got dragged in, after Maureen left a large yellow handprint on the seat of her jeans.  
  
After a few minutes, everyone was covered in paint and had collapsed, giggling hysterically, to the floor.  
  
"Okay, Roger, you have to admit that was much more fun than building a toothpick pyramid," Mimi gasped.  
  
"Yeah, and I'll bet you had it planned all along, right?" he pouted.  
  
"What can I say, Rog? I'm a scheming woman."  
  
Just then, the doorbell rang.  
  
"I'll get it," Mark called, "probably just Benny coming to crash our party."  
  
Mark opened the door, then paused. A slender black girl stood on the doorstep, her arms wrapped around herself, shivering slightly. There were bandages across both her wrists, and dark circles under her eyes.  
  
"Um. . .can I help you?" Mark asked uncertainly.  
  
"I'm-I'm looking for Tom Collins." She answered him in a shaky, broken voice.  
  
"Collins? There's someone here for you!" Mark called.  
  
But Collins was already there, standing open mouthed behind Mark.  
  
"Collins?" Mark prompted. "You okay? You know her?"  
  
"She's. . .she's my sister." Collins answered.  
  
Things I need for my next chapter:  
  
Random objects Activity A quote A place 


	2. Let It Snow

Author's Note: Wow that was a great response! Thank you sooo much. You guys made my day. First of all, I'd like to say that you all gave me great ideas and I'm really sorry I couldn't use them all. Ivy and Arch of Wand, somehow I didn't get your reviews until after I'd drafted the chapter. I may try to put your suggestions in later, or you can give me new ones. Just know that I didn't leave you out on purpose. ^_~  
  
Here's what *was* used:  
  
Ojects: an aardvark (contributed by averi)  
  
Activities: antiquing (contributed by averi), making snow angels (contributed by sunny)  
  
Place: bedroom (contributed by Mari)  
  
Quote: "Stupid is as stupid does" (contributed by Mari)  
  
Chapter 2: Let It Snow  
  
December 14th  
  
Later  
  
"Your sister?" Mark asked stupidly, shaking his head in confusion.  
  
"Yeah, my sister. So you can let her in." Collins answered, chuckling.  
  
"Oh. . .right. . ." Mark blushed and stepped away from the door.  
  
"Hi, Collins' sister," Roger greeted cheerfully.  
  
"I don't suppose you have a name?" Mimi asked the girl directly, pushing past the men, who were gathered in a clump in the hallway.  
  
"Yeah. . ." the girl answered softly, "Aimee."  
  
"Mimi." Mimi greeted cheerfully, extending a hand.  
  
Aimee flinched slightly, then caught herself, laughed softly and shook it.  
  
"It's nice to meet you. Pardon me for asking, but are you Tom's girlfriend?"  
  
Mimi blushed slightly and shook her head.  
  
"No. Just. . .a friend."  
  
Aimee looked slightly embarrassed, then shook it off.  
  
"Oh. Just wondering."  
  
Roger laughed a little too loudly, then stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Mimi's waist.  
  
"Nope. She's mine. And no one's taking her from me."  
  
Collins cleared his throat.  
  
"So. Umm. . .do you guys think you could finish the painting now?"  
  
Everyone stood shuffling their feet for a few seconds, then turned and walked back into the other room. Collins turned to face Aimee, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
"What are you doing here?" he asked.  
  
"Well that's a nice way to greet your sister," she answered, her voice suddenly bitter, "First you stand and stare at me, then you send your friends away from me and ask me what I'm doing here. Love you too."  
  
"Hey now," Collins shot back, his voice rising slightly. "You don't speak to me in eight years, then suddenly show up on my doorstep, and expect me not to be suspicious? Give me a break."  
  
"Okay, fine. Have it your way. I'm here to ask if I can live with you for a while."  
  
"What?" Collins asked, surprised, "Why?"  
  
Aimee narrowed her eyes at him, but held his gaze firmly.  
  
"I really don't want to talk about it. Are you gonna leave your sister out on the streets to starve, or are you gonna let me stay with you?"  
  
Collins threw up his hands in frustration.  
  
"Fine. The couch is all yours. Do with it what you will."  
  
December 16th  
  
8:00 AM  
  
"Whoa, it snowed!" Roger exclaimed, looking out the window of his bedroom.  
  
"Roger, shut up!" Mimi groaned rolling over and pulling the ratty comforter up over her head.  
  
"But it snowed," he said again, pulling the blankets off the bed and showing her a goofy grin. "I was starting to think it wasn't going to this year."  
  
"Roger, give me a break. It's freezing in here. And I'm tired. You kept me up all last night talking in your sleep."  
  
Roger looked surprised.  
  
"I did? What was I talking about?"  
  
"An aardvark." She said, giggling.  
  
"Liar!" Roger teased, stretching out on the bed beside her. "You're just making that up to make me feel stupid."  
  
"I'm not!" I swear to God, you were talking about an aardvark at an antiques show." Mimi grinned mischievously at him. "And besides, I wouldn't need to make anything up to make you feel stupid."  
  
"Hey!" Roger laughed, poking her in the ribs, "And besides. . .you know the saying. . .'stupid is as stupid does.' And I'm about to do something stupid!"  
  
Roger had that gleam in his eyes that always appeared right before he played a prank on someone. Mimi narrowed her eyes at him and slowly tried to inch away, but Roger was too fast for her. In one swift movement he scooped her up and carried her out into the living room, depositing her roughly on the hideous green couch. Mimi sat up and eyed him warily as he began searching through the closet for something.  
  
"Roger?" He muttered something in response, but it was muffled because his entire head and upper body was obscured by the pile of junk in the closet.  
  
"Roger, what are you doing?"  
  
"Looking for our coats," he replied, louder.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"We're going to the park."  
  
"In the *snow*?"  
  
Roger finally found her coat and pulled it out. There was a loud crash as everything else fell off the shelf.  
  
"Yep. It'll be fun. Put this on." He tossed her the old brown coat, hitting her in the face with it. She sat and blinked at him for a moment, then pulled it on, shaking her head.  
  
"You know, you're *real* romantic this morning, Rog." She muttered.  
  
"Don't you love me when it's cold?" Roger asked, kissing her.  
  
"I love you all the time, but I don't see how the cold has anything to do with it."  
  
"Well, you know, contrary to common belief, when it's cold men actually-"  
  
"Whoa, hold it right there," Mimi interrupted, holding up a hand.  
  
"What? I thought you liked it when I talk dirty."  
  
"I do, but there are small children in the room," Mimi quipped, pointing to Mark who was standing in the doorway, stretching and yawning.  
  
Roger nodded in mock understanding.  
  
"Ah. I see. What do you say we blow this joint?" Roger asked, offering her his arm.  
  
Mimi grinned and linked her arm through his, allowing him to lead her to the door.  
  
It was cold and gray outside, but not in a depressing way. The cold stung their eyes and turned their cheeks a delicate pink.  
  
As they crossed the street, Roger broke into a run.  
  
"Last one there's a rotten egg!" he yelled, sprinting off toward the park.  
  
"That's not fair!" Mimi shrieked, running after him.  
  
"Sorry, babe, *life's* not fair!" Roger shouted back. After a few seconds, he reached his mark and stopped, grinning at the sight of her running madly at him, long hair flying wildly around her face.  
  
"Wanna bet?" Mimi panted, stopping in front of him.  
  
Roger just stood there and stared in confusion.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Here's another saying for ya. 'What goes around, comes around.'"  
  
She ran forward and tackled him, managing to catch him off guard and knock him into a snow drift.  
  
"Hey!" Roger laughed. "That wasn't supposed to happen."  
  
"Poor you," Mimi teased.  
  
Roger grabbed her by the waist and rolled over, trapping her beneath him.  
  
"Oh, my god," Mark groaned. "I live with a couple of sex addicts. Don't you guys think you could've picked a better spot?"  
  
"Grow up, Mark," Roger said, rolling his eyes. He rolled off of Mimi, grabbed a handful of snow and flung it at Mark, catching him square in the chest. Mark lobbed it right back, and hit Mimi instead of Roger. Soon there were snowballs flying in all directions. Finally, they were all too cold and tired to continue. Mimi flopped down on her back and began making a snow angel. Roger grinned and joined her. Mark just stood staring at something.  
  
"What?" Roger asked, when he noticed.  
  
"Isn't that Benny?" Mimi asked, sitting up and pointing.  
  
"Yeah. . ." Mark said distantly.  
  
"Who's he with?"  
  
"I don't know. I can't tell."  
  
Benny was standing across the street, talking to a young girl with flaming red hair.  
  
"But that's definitely *not* Alison"  
  
A/N: Okay, that was fun. I just have to warn you guys that this story does have a fairly angsty plot. And it's gonna be long. A year. (well, duh) Anyway, I'm gonna keep interspersing the funny scenes too, and I do still want totally random suggestions, but I also want things that could fit into more serious/dramatic scenes. Thanks for all your reviews. Now do it again! ^_~  
  
Things Needed:  
  
An opening line  
  
More random quotes  
  
More objects  
  
Activities  
  
Places  
  
Girls' names (first and last) 


	3. A Highly Hypothetical Situation

Author's Note: Thanks for all your wonderful reviews and suggestions. I just want to give you all a warning that my updates may get rather few and far between during the next two weeks due to the big "F-word": Finals. Anyway, just don't think I've given up on it because I haven't, and I won't.  
  
Random Objects: a peanut butter jar (contributed by Arch of Wand), a tape dispenser and a santa hat (contributed by Goddess of Ivy)  
  
Activity: Singing (contributed by bohemiankat)  
  
Opening quote: (contributed by Goddess of Ivy) ~~~**~~~ December 20th  
  
Chapter 3: A Highly Hypothetical Situation  
  
"Is it supposed to look like that?" Maureen asked, staring over Joanne's shoulder at the gloppy mess she was stirring.  
  
"Yes, Mo, it's organic peanut butter. You have to mix the oil into it before you can eat it."  
  
Maureen still looked skeptical.  
  
"Umm. . .okay. . .whatever you say, Jo. It still looks like polluted sludge to me. I'll have a nice *salad* for lunch, thank you *very* much."  
  
"Come on, Maureen," Joanne protested, "If you lose any more weight you'll disappear. You are *not* fat."  
  
"But Avery said they'll only let really, really thin people try out. He said I'll get typed out if I'm not careful what I look like on the day of the audition."  
  
"Mo, I don't give a damn what your agent said. You are beautiful, and I won't let you destroy yourself over some stupid show."  
  
"It's not a stupid show!" Maureen exploded, "This is my *life*, Jo."  
  
"It may be you life, but it's certainly not *worth* your life."  
  
Maureen just shook her head.  
  
"Whatever, Jo. Forget lunch. I have to go out."  
  
Joanne whipped around and glared at her.  
  
"And just where are you going?"  
  
"Out to pick up some random woman off the street to make you jealous."  
  
Joanne slammed down the lid of the peanut butter jar, splattering oil everywhere.  
  
"Shit! Maureen, the least you can do is help me clean this up."  
  
Maureen shook her head defiantly.  
  
"Nope. Sorry. It's not my fault you can't control yourself."  
  
"And it's not *my* fault that you are such an impossible bitch."  
  
"Hah! I knew it. I knew you couldn't be mature about this!"  
  
Joanne paused in her task of wiping up the oil-spotted counter and stared at Maureen in utter shock.  
  
"Immature. *Me.* Immature. Where the hell are you going?"  
  
Maureen grabbed her leather jacket off the sofa, turned to leave, then looked back over her shoulder.  
  
"To the Life. To meet Benny. He called this morning while you were asleep. Said he wanted to ask me something. Bye Pookie."  
  
Maureen turned and left, leaving Joanne staring huffily after her, hands sticky with organic peanut oil.  
  
~~~**~~~  
  
"Deck the halls with boughs of holly," Mark sang, horribly off-key, as he filmed Roger attempting to stick cheap tinsel garland to the wall of the loft.  
  
"Maybe you could tape it on?" Mimi suggested, handing him the dispenser.  
  
"Umm. . .okay. . .You hold it up, and I'll tape it." Roger replied, grinning.  
  
Mimi sighed, stood on her tiptoes and pressed the garland against the wall.  
  
"Come on, Mimi, I said hold it *up.*" Roger teased.  
  
Mimi glared and threw the garland at him.  
  
"Fine then, you hold it up and I'll tape it."  
  
"All right," Roger laughed.  
  
He held the garland up over Mimi's head and grinned as she tried to jump up and tape it.  
  
"Okay, okay. That's enough," Mark intervened, shutting off his camera and stepping between them. He grabbed the garland from Roger and pinned it against the wall.  
  
"Tape."  
  
"Party pooper," Roger grumbled.  
  
"Give it a rest," Mimi shot back at him.  
  
"Geez, I wasn't even talking to you."  
  
"You know what, Roger? It doesn't matter. You don't know how to do anything but pick a fight."  
  
"I wasn't aware I was fighting with anyone," Roger answered, suddenly angry.  
  
"You know what, Roger? I'm so tired of this," Mimi walked over to the couch and sat down, her arms folded over her chest.  
  
"What is this?"  
  
"You! There, I'm tired of you."  
  
"Tired of me? This morning you were telling me you loved me."  
  
"Yeah? Well that was thing morning!"  
  
They were interrupted by a loud ripping sound, and the garland fell off the wall. Everyone froze and stared at it for a long moment, then Roger started laughing.  
  
"What?" Mimi asked sulkily, "What?!"  
  
"Do you realize how ridiculous we sound?"  
  
Mimi looked at the ground for a while, then she started laughing too. Mark breathed a silent sigh of relief and went over to rescue the garland from the gaping crack between the sofa cushions.  
  
"Roger," Mimi said finally, standing up.  
  
"What?"  
  
"C'mere."  
  
Roger walked over to her and she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shoulder.  
  
"I'm sorry, Rog."  
  
"It's okay." Roger soothed, planting a gentle kiss on her temple.  
  
"No, it's not okay. I do love you. You know that, right?"  
  
Roger nodded silently and stroked her hair.  
  
"I'm sorry. . .it's just. . .everything lately. . ."  
  
"Mimi. . .it's *okay.*" Roger insisted, chuckling softly.  
  
There was a loud knock at the door, and Mark jumped up to answer it. Collins walked in, followed by Aimee. The girl looked only slightly better than she had the week before. She was dressed all in black, her hair pulled back into a long dark ponytail. The bandages on her wrists had been removed, revealing two dark, identical scars.  
  
"Hi, Collins. . .hi, Aimee. . " Mark stammered awkwardly.  
  
"We come bearing gifts," Collins spoke up, holding up the large box he was carrying.  
  
"Christmas tree ornaments. . ." Roger said, puzzled.  
  
"But we don't have a tree," Mimi pointed out.  
  
Collins pulled and old santa hat out of the box and placed it on her head.  
  
"We don't have a tree *yet.*" he answered, "Come along my little elves. We have a mission to accomplish."  
  
~~~**~~~ "So how do you do it?" Benny asked, casually taking a sip of his black coffee and watching Maureen slide into the seat across from him.  
  
"Do what?" Maureen asked, puzzled.  
  
Benny gestured wildly with his hands.  
  
"Everything you women do."  
  
Maureen stared at him in confusion. Benny sat silently for a moment, then shook his head again. "Nevermind. Bad question. What can I get you to eat?"  
  
Maureen blushed. "Oh, just coffee, thanks. I had a really late breakfast."  
  
"You sure?" Benny asked, gesturing to the waiter.  
  
Maureen nodded.  
  
"So what did you want to talk to me about?"  
  
Benny choked on a mouthful of coffee, then toyed awkwardly with his napkin.  
  
"Umm. . .let's say. . .hypothetically, of course, that, uh, you were married to Joanne, and she threw you out. And *hypothetically,* you met someone new. Not on purpose of course just sort of um. . .spontaneously. . .and *hypothetically* you wanted to hook up with them but *hypothetically* they weren't really interested in you, and *hypothetically* you didn't know how to tell this new person that you were still married to Al-uh-Joanne, then hypothetically, what would you do?"  
  
Maureen stared blankly at him for several minutes. Benny waved his hand in front of her face.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Too many big words," Maureen complained, as the waiter appeared with her coffee.  
  
"Can you put it in simpler terms?"  
  
Benny glanced around nervously, then leaned across the table to Maureen.  
  
"All right, I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell anyone else. Okay?"  
  
Maureen nodded, her eyes sparkling with the prospect of being told a secret.  
  
"Okay, look. You know Alison threw me out last year, right? Well I met someone. Her name's Kati. She's a songwriter. Lives in Mark and Roger's apartment building, actually. But um. . .she's not really interested in me and I want to ask her out, but I don't know how to tell her that I'm still technically married to Alison. So what should I do?"  
  
Maureen grinned conspiratorially at Benny.  
  
"Well, if she's a songwriter you're not gonna get her attention looking like that. You got money, right?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Come on, we're gonna buy you a new wardrobe."  
  
~~~**~~~ Things For the Next Chapter:  
  
Quotes/Opening lines Activities Character pairings (to do the activities, and please keep it clean) Objects And I'm actually gonna let you give me suggestions: What play is Maureen auditioning for? 


	4. In Retrospect

Author's Note: Just in case anyone was wondering, this story is set a year after the show ends, and it is *not* in the same universe as LDH and AEE. This is the light, funny, sappy Christmas chapter. . .please read it as such. ^_^ Sorry it's been so long since I've updated, but I nearly died studying for finals. Thanks to anyone who's stayed with me on this. I only used one suggestion for this chapter because well. . .I just couldn't use anymore. . .not to mention the fact that I didn't get *that* many more. Anyway. . .yeah. . .Happy holidays to everyone!  
  
Opening line: Contributed by latina155  
  
Chapter 4: In Retrospect  
  
~~~**~~~ December 24th  
  
"'There's always a light at the end of the tunnel. Just make sure it's not a train.' Mark, what did I tell you about buying Christmas cards from street vendors?" Roger asked irritably, dumping the entire box of cards into the trash.  
  
Mark flinched and looked sheepishly at Roger.  
  
"But. . .the front one in the box was okay. . .and he sold me the whole box for fifty cents. . .I figured it was a good deal."  
  
"Mark Cohen, it's beyond me how you can live in New York for your entire life and *still* not know better than to fall for that." Mimi sighed, entering the living room dressed in a pair of old torn up jeans, and one of Roger's t-shirts. "Why is everyone staring at me?"  
  
"Because you look. . .well. . ." Mark trailed off.  
  
"Well what?!" Mimi snapped.  
  
"Well. . .ugly. . ." Mark ducked as Mimi threw a half-eaten chocolate bar from the counter at him. "Are you really gonna wear that for the party?"  
  
"Mark!" Roger barked.  
  
Mark threw up his hands and tried to inch his way out of the room.  
  
"I'm gonna . . .um. . .go pick up some groceries now, okay?"  
  
"No, not okay!" Roger snapped, "No one insults my girl and gets away with it!"  
  
Mark glanced warily around the room, then grabbed a pillow, and threw it at Roger as though staving off an attack. It struck Roger in the head. He stood there for a moment, staring at Mark, trying to decide whether to be angry or to laugh.  
  
"Earth to Roger. . ." Mimi called, waving her hand in front of his face.  
  
Roger pretended to still be stunned, staring at her blankly and trying to choke down a fit of giggles that was threatening to escape.  
  
"Roger!" Mimi tackled him, knocking him back against the sofa and straddling his lap.  
  
Roger laughed loudly, then leaned forward and kissed her, his entire body still shaking with mirth.  
  
"Will you two please take that somewhere else?" Mark asked disgustedly.  
  
Mimi grinned back at him.  
  
"Sure."  
  
She grabbed Roger's hand and pulled him up, whispering something in his ear that caused him to snort loudly.  
  
Roger lifted her into his arms and started to carry her toward their bedroom.  
  
Just then, the doorbell rang.  
  
"Damn!" Roger groaned, carefully setting Mimi back on her feet and going to answer the door.  
  
"SURPRISE!!" Maureen shouted, shooting a cracker at Roger.  
  
He jumped about a foot in the air, then stumbled backwards, bumping into Mark.  
  
"God, Maureen. . .what did I tell you about loud noises?" Joanne chided, looking at Maureen like a mother watching a mischievous infant in a toy store.  
  
Joanne gave everyone quick, crisp hugs, then glanced around the loft.  
  
"Where's Mimi?"  
  
"Changing." Mark answered, flinching at the look Roger gave him in response.  
  
Mimi emerged a few minutes later, dressed in skin-tight black jeans and a short red tank-top, which exposed a small silver ring in her bellybutton. She wore matching hoop earrings, and her long brown curls were pulled up into a high ponytail, with a few loose wisps framing her face.  
  
"Roger, stop drooling," Mark teased.  
  
Roger smacked Mark on the side of the head jokingly, then went over and kissed Mimi again.  
  
Mark shook his head.  
  
"Oh, God, there they go again."  
  
"When did you get that done?" Maureen asked, pointing to Mimi's bellybutton ring.  
  
"In October." Mimi answered eagerly. "For my birthday. I was gonna get a tongue ring too, but then I figured it might, you know, interfere with things."  
  
There was another knock on the door, and Benny entered, followed by the girl they'd seen him with in the park the week before.  
  
She was short and thin, with long, flaming red hair and sharp gray eyes. She was wearing a long blue sleeveless dress that made her hair appear even brighter.  
  
Everyone looked at Benny and tried to hide their amazement.  
  
He was dressed in a cow-print silk shirt, and ripped, bleached, jeans. He looked strangely out of place and awkward.  
  
"And. . .who is your lovely lady?" Maureen prompted eagerly.  
  
Benny cleared his throat quickly.  
  
"Oh, um, yes. Everyone, this is Kati. She lives in this very building, actually. . .We. . .we met by chance the other day actually."  
  
Benny trailed off and continued to flounder around until he was saved by the doorbell ringing yet again.  
  
Collins walked in this time, followed by a very unhappy looking Aimee. Mark ran over to her and eagerly offered to take her coat, but she refused, hugging it tighter around her small frame.  
  
Roger cleared his throat loudly and looked around the room.  
  
"Well, now that we're all here. . .umm. . .I guess we should decorate the tree?"  
  
"Okay!" Maureen said eagerly, diving into the box of ornaments that had been set out on the table.  
  
They spent the next half hour decorating the Christmas tree Collins had stolen for them with the hodgepodge of ornaments they had all collected over the years. There was tinsel that Mark and Roger had stolen from one of the street vendors the previous year, month-old popcorn that had been strung up on pairs of old shoelaces, and an old string of half burned-out lights that Collins had 'rescued' from the dump. Then there were all the homemade things that people had contributed. Maureen had made a motley assortment of papier mache animals that looked like something one might expect to find dumped in the gutter. Roger had strung a bunch of old guitar strings together into a kind of wire-mesh ball. Mark contributed all his old film from the previous year, saying that it gave the tree an artistic look. Finally, Collins climbed up on a chair and placed Angel's pickle tub at the top of the tree, since it was the closest they could get to the real thing. Everyone stood back and admired their work.  
  
Mark forced everyone to pose in front of the masterpiece so he could film them with it. "Where'd Roger go?" Mimi asked curiously.  
  
Mark and Collins exchanged secretive glances.  
  
"Um. . .somewhere. He should be back soon."  
  
Mimi shook her head and walked over to Kati, who was sitting alone on the couch.  
  
"So how'd you and Benny meet?" she asked, sitting down next to the young woman.  
  
Kati blushed slightly, then cleared her throat.  
  
"Well. . .umm. . .to tell you the truth, it was really very strange. I moved in downstairs about a month ago. . .I just finished college. And well. . .things haven't been going quite as well as I'd hoped. And so when Benny came to collect my rent, I had to tell him I couldn't pay. And it was the strangest thing. He was so *nice* about it! Told me it was okay, then offered to take me out to dinner. . .and well . . .here I am."  
  
Mimi nodded silently, trying to decide how to respond. As she'd suspected, Kati's story was incredibly similar to her own.  
  
"Hey guys! Presents!" Mark called.  
  
Everyone clustered around the tree to exchange gifts. Maureen gave everyone an article of clothing that she'd found at her favorite thrift shop. Every garment was equally hideous. Everyone loved them anyway. Collins received four books on philosophy and a yoga tape. Joanne, in typical Joanne- fashion, gave everyone gift certificates to stores perfectly suited to their temperaments. Mark handed out collages he'd made from the pictures he'd taken in the last year. Finally, everything had been unwrapped. But Roger was still missing.  
  
Just as everyone was beginning to get concerned, he entered right on cue, carrying a bundle of rags in his arms.  
  
Mimi gave him an odd look.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
Roger grinned at her.  
  
"Your Christmas present. Sorry I couldn't wrap it better. Sit down and I'll give it to you."  
  
Mimi obeyed, and Roger dumped the bundle into her arms.  
  
"Open it."  
  
Mimi eyed it warily.  
  
"Is it alive?"  
  
Roger's grin widened.  
  
"You'll see."  
  
Mimi began to unwrap the rags, then gasped in amazement. A tiny calico kitten stuck its head out and mewed at her.  
  
"Oh, Roger. . .it's adorable!"  
  
Roger blushed, then cleared his throat.  
  
"Her name's Fender." He shrugged sheepishly. "Mark told me you went nuts over the kittens that old lady had in the park last week, so I figured. . ." Roger leaned over and kissed her.  
  
Mimi patted Fender's head, and motioned to Mark. He jumped up suddenly and pulled a thick envelope out from under the tree.  
  
"Roger, um. . .this is for you. We all pitched in to get it for you and I-I hope you like it."  
  
Roger took the envelope from him, opened it, then stood there staring in shock. It contained two round-trip tickets to Santa Fe, and a card that everyone had signed.  
  
Mimi grinned up at Roger, who was trying hard not to cry.  
  
"I remember you told me you loved it there. . .so I figured you might wanna go back." Mimi handed Fender off to Maureen and stood up to hug Roger.  
  
"God, Mimi," he whispered into her hair, "To think where we were a year ago. . ."  
  
"I know. A year ago. . ."  
  
Roger took a deep breath.  
  
"The things that can change in a year. . ."  
  
~~~**~~~ And there you have it my friends! Christmas!! Okay, *please* leave me some suggestions this time! I had a really hard time writing this chapter because I didn't get very many.  
  
Things I need:  
  
Activity Quotes Opening line Play for Maureen to be trying out for Random objects Places 


	5. Truth or Dare

Author's Note: Not really much to say about this chapter. . .it's beginning to foreshadow the plot that's to come. All will be explained. . .eventually. ::evil laugh:: Let's see. . .things used in this chapter:

Random Object: silly string (contributed by Goddess of Ivy)

Place: the subway (contributed by Goddess of Ivy. . .a looooooong time ago)

Chapter 5: Truth or Dare

~~~**~~~

December 29th

Aimee walked in and carefully shut the door behind her as quietly as possible. The glowing red face of the clock on the counter read 4:52 AM. She walked into the bathroom and shut the door, listening all the time for the sound of Collins' quiet snores in the next room.

She turned on the light, wincing as the beams reached her eyes, and examined her image in the mirror. 

_No wonder people were staring on the subway. I look like I stepped out of some horror movie._

She opened the medicine cabinet and began searching through it, still keeping her ears peeled for any sense of a stirring in the next room. She got out the rubbing alcohol and the bag of cotton swabs and gently swiped the cool liquid over the insides of her arms, blinking back tears at the needles of pain that instantly shot through her skin. 

Aimee pulled out a roll of gauze and began wrapping it around her left arm, then froze, lost in thought. It wasn't that long ago that she'd been in high school, living at home with her parents. She'd been a straight A student, top of the class, with a promising career in medicine. Then IT happened. That was the only way she could think of that night. Could face it, was by labeling the event as IT.

A nondescript, nonspecific, nonthreatening pronoun. IT could be anything in her mind. That is, anything besides what IT really was. 

A knock on the door made her jump, nearly made her run. She realized too late that she'd let her guard down. How long had it been?

"Yeah?" she called shakily.

Collins slowly opened the door and stepped in, regarding her with a look of silent concern.

"Aimee?" his deep voice was full of questions. "Where were you? What the hell happened?"

Aimee stiffened, preparing her excuse.

"I-I told you. I'm a waitress. I work a night shift. Someone broke glass in the kitchen and well-I guess I'm clumsy."

Collins looked skeptical.

"You work at a diner? Must be a pretty rowdy place for you to be getting hurt this much. And pretty flexible hours, too. You think you could tell me what your schedule's like for next week? You know, just so I could know?"

Aimee bit her lower lip, wincing at the metallic tang of blood that instantly washed over her tongue.

"I-I-"

Collins nodded.

"That's what I thought."

Aimee rounded on him like a wild animal backed into a corner. 

"What is this, Tom? An interrogation? What are you gonna do, turn me over to the cops?"

Collins just shook his head.

"Aimee, I'm just trying to help you. Please tell me what happened."

"Nothing!" Aimee snapped, "Not like you would care anyway. Everything fell apart since you left. I remember-waking up that morning and you-you weren't there. And Mom and Dad said you'd left. Just left. And you never called, and you never visited. Mom and Dad stopped talking to me. And then to each other and everything just fell apart. And *you don't care.*"

With that, Aimee turned and walked out, slamming the door of the apartment, leaving Collins standing there, staring after her in shock. She started out into the night, letting the darkness wash over her, envelope her, sealing in all the pain and confusion. Images flashed across the back of her eyes, like a horror movie coming back to haunt, hours after the film has ended.

_Screaming. . .hands, always those hands, coming out of the darkness to touch her, to hurt her. . .the hands around her throat, shaking her. . .then release. . .fallingfallingfalling. . .the glass tabletop. A loud bang, and the sound of fragments scattering across the linoleum floor._

~~~**~~~

January 1st

"Mimi, you're up!" Mark called out gleefully, "Truth or dare?"

"Umm. . .truth. . ." Mimi muttered hesitantly.

Mark grinned, "Most embarrassing moment."

Mimi groaned, "Damn. Couldn't you have picked *anything* else?"

"Come on, Meems, we're waiting," Roger taunted, tickling her until she was rolling on the floor.

"All right, all right! I surrender! Um. . .okay. Well, when I was in tenth grade, I had this huge crush on my geometry teacher's son. So one night I'm at this party. And we're all drunk. So my friends and I decide that we're gonna break into his apartment and steal his underwear. So we climb up the fire escape and sneak into the bedroom through the window. We get in there, and there's this guy asleep in the bed, snoring really loudly. So we're all giggly and completely trashed. We get to the dresser, and pick up the underwear. And then we hear this grunt, and the light goes on. And there's my geometry teacher, sitting up in bed. We got the wrong bedroom."

Everyone dissolved into laughter.

"Okay, Roger," Mimi purred, smirking at him. "You're last on the torture list. Truth or dare?"

Roger eyed her warily, then took a deep breath and blew it out in a quick puff of air.

"Dare."

Mimi's eyes lit up with a demonic gleam. She got up and pulled something from under the couch, then went over and took Roger by the arm, keeping it behind her back. She lead him over to the front window and ran her arm across it, clearing a streak through the grime coating it.

"See that Range Rover?" she asked, pointing.

"Benny's?" Roger asked, puzzled. 

Mimi nodded, laughing to herself.

"He's in there right now, probably with Kati. And you, darling, are going to take this silly string," She paused and made a show of pulling it out from behind her back, "And decorate that car."

"Oh, no I'm not!" Roger protested. 

Mimi shoved him in the direction of the door.

"Oh yes you are. You are, or you're gonna be celibate for a month!"

Roger groaned, took the silly string from her, and shuffled his way out the door.

The group gathered around the window, eagerly watching as Roger made his way up to the Range Rover. He walked around it in a slow circle, then pressed down on the trigger of the silly string can, covering the black car in strands of bright purple foam. Just as he was finishing, the door of the building opened, and Benny strutted out, pausing in shock at the scene he'd stumbled into. Roger tried to run past him, but Benny blocked him, yelling some nondescript obscenities that caused the group of onlookers in the loft to burst into uproarious laughter. 

Roger was attempting to dodge past Benny and yelling excuses that amounted to "they made me do it." Benny, in an uncharacteristically good mood, grabbed the can from Roger and doused him in the purple foam. Roger yelped like a wounded dog, but finally succeeded in running past him and back up the stairs to the loft. 

"Aw, poor baby," Mimi laughed as Roger appeared at the door, his entire upper body covered in silly string. "He got your shirt all dirty. Guess you'll just have to take it off."

Roger laughed and lifted up his arms, allowing her to pull his shirt over his head. Maureen whistled obnoxiously at him as he retreated into their bedroom to get another one.

"Hey, has anyone heard from Collins?" Mark asked suddenly. "It's not like him to miss something like this."

Maureen waved a hand dismissively.

"He's probably just at a party for NYU faculty or something."

Mark looked doubtful.

Roger reappeared wearing a clean white t-shirt, and everyone sat on the floor in a circle around the coffee table. 

"All right people, time for New Years Resolutions!" Mark announced. "Everyone has to think of the most ridiculous resolution they can!"

Roger shook his head.

"We *know*, Mark. We do this every year."

"Well I'm just making sure!" Mark protested.

Roger patted him on the head.

"It's okay, Mark. There *is* medication for that."

"Hey!" 

Mark dove at Roger, knocking him to the ground.

"Whoa, whoa. . .violence!" Maureen protested.

"Any time you boys are done, we can get on with this," Joanne broke in.

The two men finally stopped wrestling and sat up.

"Okay, who goes first?" Mark asked. 

"You do." Roger answered.

"Okay. . .umm. . .I resolve to. . .eat more peanut butter!"

Maureen wrinkled her nose.

"Ew, you're gonna get fat, Marky! Not that it matters. . .not like you have a love life anyway. Okay um. . .I resolve to. . .stop believing in my mood ring."

Joanne gave her an odd look. 

"I didn't even know you *had* a mood ring. . .I resolve to clean more often."

"Jo, that's not a ridiculous resolution!" Roger protested. "I resolve to. . .learn to play guitar with my nose!"

"I do *not* wanna see that guitar after you try that. . ." Mimi warned, "I resolve to paint my toenails a different color for every month of this year."

"So that's that then." Maureen said triumphantly. "Now we need to have our ritual, or else the new year won't start right."

Everyone gathered in a circle around Maureen, trying to hide their scorn at her ridiculous tradition.

Maureen lit a candle and began speaking in her most mystical voice.

"Oh spirits of the New Year. . .bless us. . .make our resolutions come true. . .may you be. . .pacified by our wishes. . .bring us peace, happiness and freedom in the new year. . ."

There was a loud pop, and the power blew.

"It's the Y2K bug!" Maureen shrieked in the dark.

"Mo, that's not for another two years." Joanne muttered dryly.

The group dissolved into laughter for what seemed like the millionth time that night.

~~~**~~~

Okay, you now what I want. Same things as always. And please review!! 


	6. It Reaches Way Down Deep

Author's Note: This is my Christmas present to all my faithful readers. ::rereads chapter:: Wow that was depressing. . .I promise there will be more fun stuff soon. . .but ya. . .Merry politically correct holidays to all of you, and I hope you enjoy.

~~~**~~~

Chapter 6: It Reaches Way Down Deep

January 10th

"You got back late last night," Roger commented as Mimi walked out of the bathroom, toweling off her hair with one hand. 

Mimi looked at him cautiously, then went over to the closet and pulled out a black turtleneck shirt and a pair of black leather pants. 

"I told you, I had to work last night."

Roger nodded and folded his arms across his chest.

"Yeah, but you told me your shift ended at midnight. You didn't get home until nearly two."

Mimi turned and glared at him. 

"I had to stay late because three of the other girls called in sick with the flu."

"And you couldn't have called me and told me that?"

"Roger, what is this? You need to know where I am at all hours of the day? I can't eve go to *work* without you checking up on me every two seconds?"

Roger took a step toward her, his eyes alight with the fire of controversy.

"Not when 'work' means giving lap dances to whoever is willing to give the best tip. I'm sorry but when my girlfriend sells herself for a living, I can't help but be suspicious. Especially considering your history."

Mimi blinked back tears of anger and betrayal, and walked up to him until she was just inches from his face.

"My history? I didn't make my last girlfriend kill herself!"

Roger flinched as though he'd been physically slapped.

"Leave April the hell out of this!"

"This? THIS? What *is* 'this'?"

"'This' is called discovering that my girlfriend is a lying, cheating, bitch who is willing to use anything to hurt me!"

"No, 'this' is discovering that Roger Davis is an overpossessive, self-centered infant who can't let go of the past and has to drag it into absolutely *everything*!"

Roger stared at her for a moment in utter shock, then turned his back on her.

"Whore." He muttered under his breath. "Who is it this time? Benny again? Or somebody different? Mark?"

"Roger Davis, you turn around and say it to my face!" Mimi growled.

Roger turned around and looked her straight in the eye.

"Whore." His voice was louder this time, more certain.

Mimi stared at him for a moment, her lips twitching with fury. Then, in one lightening fast instant, she slapped him across the jaw.

"Bastard!"

"Whore!" he said again, nearly screaming it this time.

Roger reached out and grabbed Mimi by the arm, throwing her to the ground. She was on her feet again in an instant, leaping up and running out the door as quickly as possible. Roger just stood there, breathing hard. He half-heard the phone ringing, as though it was far away, or in another world.

"Roger!" Mark called from the other room.

"Yeah?" Roger asked, forcing himself to focus.

"It's some guy wanting to know why you're not at practice with the guys!"

Roger shook himself, trying to forget what had just happened.

"Tell him I'll be right there."

Roger snatched up his guitar case and left, forgetting to even grab a jacket.

~~~**~~~

"Roger?" Mark called as he heard the door slam. "Roger, something wrong?"

No answer.

Mark shook his head, hung up the phone which was now making obnoxious noises, and picked up his camera. He aimed it at his reflection in the mirror and switched it to 'on.'

"January tenth, twelve pm, Eastern Standard Time. This, folks, is what happens when you're the sane one. You end up, like me. . .alone." He switched off the camera and just stared at himself in the scratched glass. 

"Well that was depressing. Great, now I'm talking to myself. I've got to get out of here. Do you know where I can buy a life?" Mark asked his reflection. He shrugged at himself, scrawled a quick note to Roger, and set off for the park.

He kept his camera in its case, searching for a good shot as he walked. He would've like to film all of it, but money was running short lately, and he couldn't afford to buy much more film unless he sold something. Which meant no leisure filming. Project work only. The only problem with that was, Mark had no idea what his next project would be, since nothing he filmed seemed to be in any sort of demand. He'd settled on working on a documentary about hate and intolerance, but decided that it was too close to home for his liking. Now he was back to filming random scenes in the park and on the streets, and hoping someone somewhere someday would give him money for it. Otherwise, he would have to turn to bartending like Roger and forget about filming altogether.

Mark settled on a shot of a girl trying to beg food from a hotdog vendor. 

"But I'm only ten cents short!" the girl protested.

The man behind the counter shook his head. He was middle-aged and well past his prime, with oily, graying brown hair and a face wrinkled and leathery from too many hours of selling cholesterol coated papers full of third-quality meat to tourists and people who were too busy with everyone else's problems to take care of themselves. 

"Please? Sir, I haven't eaten in three days."

The man shook his head again and crossed his arms across his chest, eyeing her stubbornly. 

"What is this? One of those news things where you people rip us off and then make us look like heartless misers?"

"What?" the girl asked, confused.

"Ah, don't act clueless, bitch! You're the one with the camera guy standing behind you. How much you payin' him?"

Mark quickly stashed his camera behind his back and pulled a dime out of his pocket, pretending to find it on the ground. 

"Drop this?" He asked, tapping the girl on the shoulder. She turned around to take it from him and he gasped.

"Aimee?" 

Aimee eyed Mark suspiciously, took the dime from him, bought her hotdog, then quickly walked toward a bench, motioning for him to follow.

"I know you." She said bluntly. "You're one of Tom's friends. Mark, right? The one who films everything because he's too shy to talk to people?"

Mark nodded, dumbfounded, and stood watching as she wolfed down the hotdog in barely three bites.

"How do you know that?"

She shrugged.

"Tom talks about his friends a lot. You in particular. Says he's worried about you."

It took Mark a moment to find his voice.

"Was-was it true what you said?"

Aimee quirked an eyebrow at him quizzically. 

"What?"

"About you not having eaten in three days."

Aimee shrugged.

"Yeah. Hard facts of life."

"I thought you were living with Collins."

"I was. Maybe I still am. Life intervenes, what can ya do? The only thing you can ever be certain of is that nothing will ever go according to plan."

Mark nodded slowly, trying to take it all in.

"So does that mean you haven't been living with him recently?"

"Very good, camera man."

Mark dug through his pockets, scrounging around for change and a few wrinkled bills.

"Can-can I take you to lunch?"

"Where, at that place you people practically own?"

"The Life?" Mark asked nervously. "Yeah."

Aimee grinned at him suddenly.

"Beats the shit they sell around here."

Mark used the short walk to The Life to observe her, stealing sideways glances at her. She was dressed in an old pair of brown jeans and a baggy gray sweatshirt which covered her arms and all but the tips of her fingers. Her hair was tangled, and her face was smudged with dirt. Mark guessed by her appearance that she'd spent the last few days on the street. He wondered silently what her story was. 

A few minutes later, Mark found himself sitting in a booth across from her, watching her bolt down a bowl of organic pasta. There was something different about her, he decided. Something hardened. She wasn't afraid to say what she felt, and yet at the same time he sensed in her an incredible apprehension about something. Him? He didn't think so. At least he hoped not. He continued watching her eat and tried to think of something safe to say to her. The more he watched her, the more he noticed her eyes. They were dark, chocolate brown. . .darker even than Mimi's.

"You're beautiful." Mark blurted, then slapped his hand over his mouth. 

Aimee froze like she'd just been slapped. She stood up slowly, her eyes darting around.

"I have to go." She stood up, walked out, and was gone. Mark just sat there, staring after her in shock, wondering why nothing ever turned out right for him.

~~~**~~~

Review please!


	7. First Rate Asshole

Author's Note: I received a review that basically said I've been stealing things from "How Do You Leave the Past Behind." I just want to take ten seconds to say. . .I ABSOLUTELY AM NOT. I would never steal anything from one of my fellow authors. The thing to keep in mind is that we are all writing for the same characters, and therefore they *would* have similar reactions to things. I know there are some elements that have been similar, but if you continue reading, you will see that my plot is entirely different. Okay, end of rant. ::takes deep breath:: Enjoy this chapter.

~~~**~~~

Chapter 7: First Rate Asshole 

January 10th

Roger dragged his feet through the wet gray sludge that had been snow just a few days ago and shivered slightly. He'd forgotten to take a jacket in his hurry, and he wasn't about to go back to the loft any time soon. At least, not until he'd figured out how to make things right. The strap of his guitar case was twisted and cutting into his shoulder, but Roger made no move to fix it. He figured he deserved the pain. Roger stopped and stared at his reflection in a puddle, silently asking himself why he always ruined everything. A car sped by, disturbing the surface of the puddle and dousing Roger in muddy water. He cursed softly, then scuffed the toe of his boot in the puddle and kept walking. 

A few minutes later, Roger's AZT beeper began to alarm obnoxiously, but he just reached over and switched it off, completely ignoring its message. 

"That wasn't very smart." A deep voice said from behind him.

Roger jumped slightly and turned around to face the mysterious person.

"Collins!"

"Something wrong?"

Roger shook his head.

"No! I mean yes. I mean. . .how did you know?"

"Well. . .let's just say you're giving off negative vibes."

"That obvious?" Roger smiled grimly.

Collins nodded.

"Afraid so. Take a walk with me and tell me what the trouble is."

"Playing psychiatrist again, Collins? What's wrong, NYU not keeping you busy enough?"

"Oh, they're keeping me plenty busy. . .so busy, in fact, you're lucky I have time for your miniscule problems, Roger." Collins answered with mock formality. "Now tell me."

"Okay. . ." Roger sighed, and started walking slowly, pretending to be fascinated by the merchandise the street vendors were offering. 

"Let me guess." Collins prompted. "You and Mimi fought."

Roger's head shot up and he dropped the garishly beaded handbag he'd been examining.

"Hey, watch it man!" the enraged vendor shouted.

"Sorry," Roger muttered, picking it up and placing it back on the display. He turned back to Collins. "How'd you know?"

Collins laughed.

"Sorry to say this, Rog, but I can read you like a book. That's what you get for keeping the same friends for so long."

Roger sighed again.

"I don't *try* to keep you guys. . .you just won't leave me alone. I guess I should thank you for that."

"Must have been some fight. What happened?"

Roger cleared his throat loudly.

"I um. . .I don't know. She came home late from work and I-I just-" Roger trailed off and shrugged. "Why do I do this to myself, Collins?"

Collins looked thoughtful for a moment before answering.

"I don't know, Rog. Seems to me you're afraid."

"Of *what*?" Roger asked, frustrated.

"Of losing the things you love. You're afraid Mimi will leave you, and so you push her away. It's just something you're gonna have to work on if you want to have a healthy relationship."

Roger snorted bitterly.

"I don't think 'Roger Davis' and 'healthy relationship' are meant to be found in the same sentence."

"Not as long as you think like that. Hey, look, that vendor has just what you need!" Collins exclaimed, pointing to a table of t-shirts. Roger took one look at it, grinned, and began searching his pockets for cash.

~~~**~~~

_Later_

"Bananas?" 

"No."

"Ummm. . .ham and cheese sandwich?"

"No."

"Tomato soup?"

"*Definitely* not."

Mark sighed in exasperation.

"Come on, Mimi, you haven't eaten all day. Just because you and Roger fought doesn't mean you should starve yourself to death."

Mimi glared at him from the sofa, and Mark felt himself shrink slightly before her laser gaze. He continued searching through the cabinets, finally finding what he was after.

"Okay then, chocolate."

Mimi perked up.

"Chocolate? I didn't know we *had* chocolate."

Mark grinned at her.

"That's because I keep it hidden all the time. With all the drama that goes on around here I have to ration it or we'd spend all our money on it."

"Marky the chocolate hoarder," she muttered sarcastically. "Wow, you learn something new everyday."

Just then, they heard the sound of a key in the rusty old lock.

"Hello?" Roger called from the hallway. "Anyone home?"

Mimi stiffened and turned around to face him. Mark shrank back behind the counter, as though it could protect him. But the confrontation never came. Mark burst into laughter at the sight of Roger, and even Mimi had to turn away from him to keep a straight face.

Roger was wearing a baggy white shirt with a red ribbon and the words "First Rate Asshole" painted on the front.

"Where'd you get that?" Mimi asked cautiously.

"Well you know, it was the strangest thing," Roger said, grinning, "I was walking out of band practice and this bird flew over my head and dropped this bundle on me. And then it told me to be sorry, and flew off. And the bundle was this shirt."

Mimi looked skeptical.

"Uh-huh. Sure. Fine. Whatever."

"Honestly!" 

"You are so full of shit." She muttered, her temper flaring again. "Seriously, Roger. You can't treat me like you did and then expect 

me to just laugh it up over some shirt and then forget the whole thing."

Roger sighed and sat down on the couch, patting the spot beside him. Mimi shook her head and remained standing.

"I don't know what to say, Mimi. Other than that I'm sorry, and I wish I could take it back. And I love you."

Mimi crossed her arms.

"You could find a better way to show it."

"God, Mimi, I know! I-I'm just so afraid of losing you. . ." Roger trailed off, his throat tight. "Forgive me?"

Mimi wiped at her eyes roughly, and offered him a weak smile.

"I don't know why I put up with you, Roger." She said, but her voice lacked conviction. 

"You know you love me." Roger said, more confident now.

"No, I don't!" she insisted, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at him.

"Forgive me?"

"No!"

"You know you want to."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

"Don't."

"Do."

"Don't!"

"Do!"

"DON'T!" Mimi burst into a fit of giggles, grabbed a pillow off the couch and began to beat Roger over the head with it.

Roger just sat there.

"Okay, I deserve it. Beat me all you want." 

Just then, Fender crawled out from behind the sofa and climbed up on the couch, resting her head in Roger's lap.

"See? Even she wants you to forgive me. How can you resist a face like that?"

Mimi sighed and sat down beside him.

"Okay, okay. . .I forgive you. On one condition."

Roger look nervous.

"What's that?"

"You wear that shirt at your next gig."

Roger laughed and wrapped his arms around her, careful not to hurt Fender.

"You got it. I really am sorry."

"Roger, I *know*!'

"Okay," he laughed, "Just making sure."

Roger leaned in to kiss her, and the phone rang.

"Damn. Every time. Mark, get that."

Mark groaned, but obediently went to get the phone. He spoke to the person for no longer than five minutes, a worried look coming over his face. His hand trembled as he hung up the receiver.

"You guys are gonna have to wait."

"Why?" Roger asked, "Who was that?"

"Joanne. Maureen's in the emergency room."

~~~**~~~

Give me reviews for Christmas!


	8. I Spy

~~~**~~~

Chapter 8: I Spy 

January 10th

10 PM

"I spy with my little eye. . .something. . .purple." Mark challenged.

"The carpet." Roger guessed.

"No."

"That's blue." Mimi corrected irritably.

"It's purple."

"It's blue!"

"You're colorblind." 

"Guys!" Mark interrupted, "Forget it. The carpet is purplish-blue, if it will please both of you, but that's not my clue anyway, so you both lose."

Roger looked indignant.

"Fine then, what is it?"

"That guy's hair," Mark whispered, pointing. 

Mimi sighed and flopped back on the couch. It had been over four hours since they'd arrived, and all they'd heard was that Maureen had been brought in unconscious and was now in intensive care, and that Joanne was with her. Mark, Roger, and Mimi had been ordered to stay in the waiting room until the situation had been "stabilized." There was still no word from Collins.

"Tired?" Roger asked, sitting down next to Mimi and pulling her into his lap.

"Exhausted," Mimi groaned, laying her head on his shoulder. "What's happening to me, Rog? I used to be able to stay up all night and not be tired and now. . .Whatever. . .this is what middle age must be like."

"Ooh, look, a gray hair," Roger teased, running his fingers through her long dark curls. 

"Roger Davis, did anyone I ever tell you you're an asshole?" Mimi asked, giggling.

"Ummm . . .maybe once or twice. . .would it make you happy to tell me again?"

"You're an asshole!" Mimi laughed as Roger started tickling her.

"Who's an asshole?" Collins asked from where he'd been standing, leaning against the wall.

Mark jumped.

"Where'd you come from?"

"A galaxy far, far away. What's up with Mo?"

"No one wants to tell us." 

Collins sighed and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Where's Aimee?" Mimi asked, sitting up suddenly.

Collins sighed again and shook his head. 

"I have no idea. I haven't seen her since the day before New Years. We argued and she just. . .ran out the door."

"Have you called the police?" Roger asked.

"No. I-I don't know. I'm afraid of what they might find."

"You think she's doing something illegal?"

"I just don't know. I don't know what to do."

Mark cleared his throat timidly.

"She's okay." He muttered softly.

Collins' head shot up.

"What did you say?"

"I said she's okay." Mark said again, louder this time. 

"How would you happen to know that?" Collins asked, his voice suddenly loud and accusing.

"I saw her. Earlier today. In the park."

"You saw her." Collins repeated. "In the park. Alone?"

Mark nodded.

"Did she tell you she ran away?"

Mark nodded again.

"And you didn't tell me?"

Mark nodded a third time.

"Mark, what the *hell* were you thinking?" Collins exploded, advancing on the filmmaker.

Mark stumbled a few steps backward until he bumped into the wall.

"Collins, I-I-I don't know!"

"You don't know!" Collins taunted. He grabbed Mark by the shoulders and shook him.

"Collins, STOP!" Roger called from behind him, rushing to Mark's aid. 

Collins let go of Mark, the anger draining out of him. He walked over to a plush covered armchair and sat down, his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry, Mark. I don't know what got into me."

Mark nodded. 

"It's okay."

"Excuse me."

They all jumped at the sound of Joanne's voice.

"News, Jo?" Roger asked.

"Yeah." She answered grimly, sitting down in a chair next to Collins.

"Is she okay?" Mimi asked, concerned. "What happened?"

Joanne cleared her throat.

"We were at the mall and she said she felt dizzy, and then she just. . .collapsed. The doctors—they-they aren't sure, but they think Maureen's anorexic. She's being given nutrients through an IV and then. . .we'll see where it goes from there. How could I not have noticed?"

Mark went over and put an arm around her.

"It'll be okay. You noticed now. That's what matters."

~~~**~~~

January 18th

"Roger, door!" Mimi called from the bathroom.

"You get it, I'm cooking!" Roger called back.

"Cooking? I don't wanna know! I'm taking a shower, Rog, answer the damn door!"

"I can't leave my grilled cheese or it'll burn!" Roger shouted back.

Mimi sighed in exasperation, quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt, and went to answer the door.

"Benny?" She said, surprised.

Benny grinned obnoxiously at her.

"Well if it isn't the sexy Miss Marquez. . .did I ever tell you you look like a drowned rat with wet hair?"

"Did I ever tell *you* you look like a rich snob in a suit? Oh wait, that's the image you were hoping for, wasn't it. . ." Mimi shot back. "What do you want?"

"To talk. Can I come in?"

Mimi smiled sweetly at him, then glanced over her shoulder.

"Hey, Roger, Benny's here. He says he wants to talk to me. Should I let him in?"

Roger came to the door, wearing an old pair of flowered oven mitts. 

"Sure, he looks harmless enough right now. What the hell."

Mimi stepped aside and let him in, surprised that Roger was in such a good mood. Normally Benny's appearance on their doorstep would've been cause for major catastrophe.

Benny walked in, surveyed the loft, the sat down on the edge of the old lime green sofa. It creaked loudly, as though threatening to swallow Benny.

"Talk." Mimi ordered coolly. 

"I want you to give me some relationship tips." Benny said.

Roger snorted loudly.

"You've already been married once. Why do you need relationship tips?"

"Well see. . .I know how to seduce the business type. But I have no idea how to approach . . .one of you."

"One of us?" Mimi asked, confused.

"An artist." Benny muttered, as though it were a profanity.

"Oh. I get it." Roger said, grinning evilly. "Well, tip number one. On your first date, use your napkin to loudly blow your nose during dinner."

Benny glared. Mimi walked over to Roger and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Ooooh," she purred in her sexiest voice, "That's a *good* one, Rog. Okay, tip number two. Call every five minutes when you're not with her."

Roger laughed, and Benny glared more. 

"Number three." Roger continued. "Recite Shakespearean Sonnets at her window at two o'clock in the morning."

"How come you don't do that for me?" Mimi whined, kissing Roger. 

"I will if you want me to," Roger replied, kissing her back. 

"Oh my God," Benny muttered, "I'm getting out of here." 

~~~**~~~

Review please! I still want random suggestions, by the way! 


	9. Oatmeal

~~~**~~~

Chapter 9: Oatmeal

January 25th

8 AM

"Early morning," Mark narrated, pointing his camera at Roger. "Romeo attempts to cook breakfast."

"Shut up, Mark," Roger muttered, flipping him off.

He was attempting to make oatmeal on their ancient stove, without much success. What he was producing instead consisted of a charred, blackened mass of oats and clouds of thick, reeking gray smoke.

"Who's burning the house down?" Mimi asked sleepily, emerging from the bedroom with Fender in her arms.

"Roger was attempting to be romantic and bring you breakfast in bed," Mark smirked.

"Shut up!" Roger shot back. "At least I *have* someone to act romantic for."

"Zoom in on my narcissistic roommate," Mark narrated, lifting his camera, "This, folks is what happens when romance enters your life. Boy meets girl and wham! Everything else in boy's life gets dropped."

"Hey now!" Roger protested. He lifted the lid of the pot and it belched thick gray smoke toward him. Roger coughed and began waving the oven mitts around.

Mimi burst into a fit of giggles.

"What?" Roger asked, glaring at her, "What?!"

"Two words for you," Mimi said, smirking, "Bitchy mood."

"Two words for *you*," Roger shot back, "Easily amused."

Mark looked was looking at his fingers in confusion.

"Wait, that's three words. . ." He double-checked. "No, wait, you're right. It's two."

Mimi shook her head.

"There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who can count, and those who can't."

"Wait!" Roger muttered irritably, "That's-that's. . .stop it, Mimi, you're confusing me!"

"Wait a minute. . .*you* started it!"

"I did not start it! I was just trying to do something nice for you!" 

"Well that's not my fault." Mimi smiled sweetly at him.

"Cut it out, you guys. . ." Mark complained, "You're giving me a headache."

"Aww. . .poor Marky," Mimi crooned.

"Wow, did someone give you annoying pills this morning?" 

Mimi laughed.

"The last time someone said that to me I was ten years old."

"And you still are." Roger teased.

"Hey!" Mimi jumped up and ran at Roger. 

He spooned up some of the black oat paste from the pot and began chasing her around with it. Mimi grabbed a handful of dry oatmeal off the counter and threw it at Roger. He threw it right back, and some of the oats got stuck in her long curls. Mark and Roger both dissolved into laughter.

Mimi glared back and forth, first at one, then the other.

"Why do men think it's so funny that things get stuck in curly hair?" she asked, hands on her hips.

This only served to make them laugh harder. Mark blushed crimson.

"God, Mark, you're such a pervert!" Mimi teased, laughing at her own words.

"Seriously though, it's not funny! Do you have any idea how hard it is to maintain healthy curls?"

Roger and Mark exchanged a glance and burst into laughter again.

"God!" Mimi shouted, and stalked out of the room.

"Good job, Romeo," Mark teased. 

Roger flipped him off again and went back to his oatmeal. He turned off the stove, picked up the pot, and carried it over to the sink.

"I hope you're not going to eat that." Mark said.

Roger gave him a look. He turned the pot upside down and started banging on the bottom, attempting to get the charred black mass out of it. 

He was interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing.

"Mark, get it. . .my hands are all covered in. . .stuff."

"Marky the designated answering machine," Mark grumbled, but obeyed anyway.

He picked it up, cradling the receiver against his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"This is Collins."

"I know." Mark answered. "What do you need?"

"Umm. . .Aimee's in the hospital. . .I just thought you should know."

"Okay. . .I'll. . .be right there."

Mark hung up the phone softly and turned to face Roger.

"I'm going out filming now." He said, trying to sound casual.

Roger just nodded, too preoccupied with his oatmeal gunk to notice that anything was out of the ordinary.

~~~**~~~

_Later_

Collins walked into the room slowly, trying to force himself to adjust to the sight of his little sister lying in a hospital bed, covered in bandages with an IV needle in her arm. The very sight made his heart hurt.

He knelt at the side of the bed and gently took her hand.

"Aimee?"

"You hate me now, don't you." 

Her voice was slightly raspy, but still every bit as full of her usual attitude. She didn't sound the least bit guilty.

"Why would I hate you?" Collins asked softly, "You know I was only trying to help you."

Aimee nodded weakly.

"I don't want your help. I don't want anybody's help."

"Will you at least tell me what happened?"

Aimee shook her head, wincing slightly.

"You don't need to know. It's not important now."

"Yes it is!" Collins protested. "Look, I'm not stupid enough to think this was some kind of accident. Somebody *did* this to you, and whoever it was needs to be punished."

"The whoever it was has been punished enough." Aimee insisted.

At that point they were interrupted by the sound of a loud crash near the door. Both looked up to see Mark looking sheepish and picking up a bed pan that he'd just knocked off one of the shelves.

"Thanks for coming, Mark," Collins said warmly.

"You called him?" Aimee asked sharply.

"Well. . .yeah. . .I mean, I called the loft and he answered."

"And so you told him to come."

"Yes. I mean . . .look, I'm sorry if you didn't want me to, but I thought you'd like to have a little support at a time like this."

"Well you thought wrong," Aimee stated simply.

"Aimee, look," Mark broke in, "If you think I blew your secret or something. . .I swear to God I didn't. . ."

"Give up, Mark." She replied. "That's not what I think. I just can't give you what you want. So I'm not even going to try."

Mark looked as though he'd just been slapped in the face.

A nurse with long, curly black hair knocked on the doorframe.

"Excuse me, sir?" She said to Mark.

"Yeah?" Mark answered numbly.

"This is an intensive care unit, I can only allow immediate family in here. You're going to have to leave."

"Okay."

Mark nodded and walked out, his head cast dejectedly toward the pavement.

~~~**~~~

Okay so I know it's short. More soon, I promise! Reviews make me write faster. . .

Oh, and cookies will be awarded to anyone who can figure out the significance of January 25th.


	10. Come to Your Senses

Author's Note: Yeah, I know it's short. But I've been really writer's blocked with this story lately, so it was short update or no update. More soon, I promise.

Chapter 10: Come to Your Senses

~~~**~~~

February 1st

"Does this shirt make me look fat?" Maureen asked, examining herself critically in the mirror.

Joanne glanced up from the screen of her laptop and regarded Maureen with a mix of annoyance and concern.

"God, Maureen, how many times do I have to tell you that you are *not* fat?"

"Until you tell the truth." Maureen snapped, stripping off the shirt she'd been scrutinizing and selecting another one from the closet.

"How'd your audition go?" Joanne asked, changing the subject.

"It didn't." 

"What?" Joanne snapped shut the lid of her laptop and went over to stand behind Maureen.

"It didn't go!" Maureen shouted. "Avery wouldn't send me. Said I wasn't 'mentally stable' enough."

"Well. . .you know. . .you *have* been through a lot lately. . ." Joanne pointed out gently.

"A lot? That's what you call it? A lot?! Well I'll tell you something, Miss Successful, everything I've 'been through' has been for this part! And now Avery won't let me go just because I got sick a few weeks ago. It's his fault!" Maureen exploded, starting to cry.

"Maureen. . ." Joanne protested, wrapping her arms around Maureen's unnaturally thin waist, "I know what you're going through is hard, but it's nobody's fault. It just happened. And you'll get through it. I know you will."

"But it *is* his fault!" Maureen sobbed, "It *is*! And now he won't even let me *try* for the part. I'm going to go through all of this for *nothing*."

"Maureen. . .I know that's how you feel right now but just. . .give it some time."

"You know what?"

"What?"

"I don't want to be an actress anymore. I'm so sick of having other people judge me on-on what I look like. Or how I walk, or how I talk. Who are they to say whether I have any talent or not?"

"No one." Joanne agreed.

"Great!" Maureen screamed, "Just great!"

"What now?"

"I have no life! No dreams, no career! No life!"

"Maureen. . .honeybear. . .you just decided you wanted to give up. . ."

"I don't! I don't!! I just can't. . .deal with this anymore. I'm like. . .like a junkie. I have to keep trying, and yet it keeps hurting me, but I still can't give it up. It would hurt more to stop trying. Does that make any sense?"

Joanne looked quizzically at Maureen.

"Not really. . .I mean. . .if you're not successful, then you should stop. It wouldn't be hard for you to find another career."

"But I don't want to!"

"You just said you did!"

"But I don't! Come on, Jo. . .you can't honestly say you've never had a dream. You have to understand that."

"Sure, I understand dreams. But I don't understand chasing after a dream you can't have."

"Then you don't understand the first thing about me."

Maureen grabbed her jacket from the closet and made her way to the door.

"Wait!" Joanne called, "Where are you going now?"

"The loft." Maureen answered, and left.

~~~**~~~

"Maureen?" Roger said, surprised, as he opened the door.

"No, Barney the Purple Dinosaur," Maureen said sourly, "Are you gonna let me in?"

"I don't know. . .I don't think Benny would like me keeping a dinosaur in my apartment. . .he might try to evict me again."

"Nah, he's too busy making out with Kati to notice. Come on, Rog, lemme in."

Roger gave an exaggerated sigh.

"Oh, all right."

"Maureen!" Mark yelped, dropping the pot lid he'd been washing. It hit the linoleum floor with a loud crash and rolled around for a few moments before hitting a cabinet and stopping.

"Yeah, me. Would everyone please stop acting so glad to see me? The enthusiasm is killing me."

"Umm. . .how are you?" Mark asked awkwardly.

"Oh, just lovely, thanks. I have no life, no career, and a girlfriend who has no imagination. Where's Mimi?"

"Out buying groceries. Anything I can do?" Roger answered.

"I don't know." Maureen sighed, sitting down on the couch. "How do you do it, Rog?"

"Do what?" Roger asked, confused.

"Put up with the frustrations of being an artist."

"Oh," Roger answered blushing, "Umm, I don't?"

"No, seriously. How do you deal with people telling you your work is shit?"

"Well, gee, thanks. Glad to know you have such a high regard for my work." Roger teased.

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"I know. It's tough, Mo. That's all I can say. Just don't let the creeps get you down."

"But *how*?"

"You just have to know you're better than them. Prove you're worth it. The first time I told my dad I wanted to be a songwriter and played something I'd written for him, he told he was sure I'd 'come to my sense and choose a real job' by the time it mattered. I never forgot that. I guess in a way that forced me to keep trying. To show him that he couldn't stop me."

Maureen regarded him thoughtfully.

"Yeah. . .I guess you're right. I guess. . .if I give up now, then I let them win. Thanks, Roger."

"No problem." 

Maureen got up to go.

"Hey, Mark, how are things with you and Aimee?"

"What?" Mark yelped, dropping a frying pan this time.

"I've seen the way you look at her," Maureen teased. "Keep trying. You'll get there eventually."

"Hey, Mo, keep your head up. And try to follow your own advice." Mark replied, grinning.

~~~**~~~

Reviews make my world go 'round.


	11. Love Takes Time

Author's Note: I just want to say that I may not be able to update as much as I have been for the next few months because of my rehearsal schedule. Just don't think I've forgotten my writing, because I haven't. And don't prejudge this plot. Give me a chance to set it up.

~~~**~~~

Chapter 11: Love Takes Time

February 1st

11:00 AM

"I'm dreaming of a white Valentine's day. . ." Mark sang, pointing his camera out the window at the snow-covered lot below.

I had been snowing for nearly two days without stopping and the little space heater in the loft was on its last leg.

"Mark, shut up!" Roger called, throwing yet another sheet of crumpled staff paper toward the trash can. The paper bounced off the rim with a dull metallic thud, and landed on top of the mountain of paper already on the floor.

"Good lord, no it's snowing in here too," Mimi said dryly, glancing at the mess on the floor, then sitting down on the couch next to Roger and stealing part of the blanket he had over his shoulders.

"Hey!" Roger protested, "It's cold in here! Would you really steal heat from a poor, struggling musician?" he pouted, poking her with his guitar pick.

"Oh, I can give you plenty of heat if you need it," Mimi purred, raising an eyebrow at Roger. "Besides, didn't your mother ever teach you to share?"

"Nah. Think I must've missed that particular lesson. My brain was on a vacation." 

Roger lifted his guitar off his lap and placed it on the floor beside the couch, then pulled Mimi down against him.

"All right, time out!" Mark called, turning his camera on them.

Mimi immediately jumped up and clapped her hand over the lens.

"And here we have the hand of the lovely Miss Marquez who has no problem getting drunk and dancing on the table at the Life Café, but is apparently mortally afraid of cameras."

Mark yelped as Mimi wrestled the camera out of his hands and turned it on him.

"And *here* we have Mark Cohen, celebrated maker of unsellable films, who is mortally afraid of his *own* camera."

"That's not fair!" Mark yelped, covering his head with his hands.

"If I wanted to be in front of it, I wouldn't be behind it!"

Mark ran around behind Mimi and grabbed the camera back from her. She sighed and went back over to Roger, sitting down on his lap. Mark adjusted a few settings on his camera, then pointed it back at Roger and Mimi.

"And here we have our resident lovebirds, having a little fun on the lovely, snowy day. Smile!"

Roger shoved Mimi off his lap and got up, blushing slightly.

"Come on, Mark, cut it out."

"Okay, okay," Mark sighed, switching off the camera, "Waste of film anyway."

"What?" Roger asked Mimi, who was standing a few feet away, glaring at him.

"What's with dumping me off your lap?"

"What?! When?"

"Just now. You pushed me off like you were afraid I'd bite."

"Mark was filming!" Roger said defensively.

"Oh, so you don't want me on film with you?"

"I never said that! I just didn't think that you would want Mark to—"

"What? To *what*? To have a record of us being together? Are you ashamed of me?"

"No! Mimi!"

"What's with you lately, Roger? I mean really!"

"What have I done?" Roger protested.

"Everything! You're always gone! Out at practice or—or—I don't even know where you go all the time anymore! And now you act ashamed of me! If you're gong to treat me like this Roger then—then I just don't know."

Mimi turned and stormed out the door, grabbing her jacket on her way out.

"Mimi WAIT!" Roger called after her.

She didn't stop. Roger stood staring in shock for a moment, then turned to Mark.

"What the hell just happened there?"

Mark shrugged.

"I don't know. But it sure wasn't pretty."

"Think we should go look for her?"

"No. Give her time. You'll be fine in time."

~~~**~~~

12:30 PM

Maureen fanned her hands in the air, then paused and examined her hot pink nailpolish, trying not to inhale the fumes.

The knock on the door made her jump.

"Coming!" she called, "Keep you head on, I'll be there in a second!"

Maureen opened the door, then squealed in surprise.

"Mimi! Honey, I haven't seen you in *ages.* Where have you been?"

"Oh, around," Mimi said sourly, "Off rotting in a corner, unnoticed by the world of man. I think I'm in love with Fender. I swear, she's far better company than any man I'll ever meet."

"Aw, honey, what's wrong?" Maureen asked, ushering Mimi inside and closing the door. Mimi took off her coat and gave a long sigh, sitting down on the couch.

"Oh. . .everything. Where's Joanne?"

"At work. Lucky woman. She actually gets *paid* for the work that she does. But tell me what's wrong. And don't say 'nothing' because I know you don't normally act like this."

"Okay," Mimi laughed bitterly, "I won't say nothing. Everything. Everything's wrong."

"Well . . .it's a start. Anything. . .specific?"

"Well . . .Roger."

Maureen laughed.

"Why am I not surprised? What did he do this time?"

"Oh, it's not like it's just one thing. He's just. . .gone all the time. And even when he *is* around, all he wants to do is either be left alone with his guitar or fool around. And I don't think he even *knows* it bothers me. It's killing me and he doesn't even notice."

"He's a *guy*, Mimi. What can you expect? Come on, what is it really? That can't be all that's got you this upset."

"I. . .Maureen, I think I'm pregnant," Mimi said softly, burying her face in her hands.

Maureen's eyes widened, then an idiotic grin swept across her face.

"Honey, that's wonderful!" she squealed, "Are you sure?"

Mimi shrugged uncertainly.

"I don't know. I mean, I think so. I haven't been tested or anything but—Oh, God, Maureen, how am I going to tell Roger?"

"Just tell him. He loves you. He'll understand."

Mimi shook her head, starting to cry.

"No! No, he won't. He's so full of himself right now. He'll leave me."

Maureen sighed and put an arm around Mimi.

"It'll work out. Just don't tell him anything until you know for sure."

~~~**~~~

Review please!


	12. Demands

Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to Mari, because she's awesome and I would've stopped writing a forever ago if it hadn't been for her help and nagging. ^_~. I seriously wish she didn't live over 1,300 miles away from me so we could hang out for real. Much love!

~~~**~~~

Chapter 12: Demand

February 5th

1:20 PM

The Life Café

"And so?" Maureen asked as Mimi slid into the booth across from her and Joanne. 

Mimi took a long, deep breath and blew it out slowly.

"It's official. I am."

"Congratulations!" Maureen squealed, pounding on the table.

Joanne shot her a look of disapproval. Maureen cleared her throat and daintily smoothed her napkin across her lap.

"Sorry."

There was a moment of silence in which they all pretended to read the menus, then Maureen perked up and began to chatter again.

"So what are you gonna do? How are you going to tell Roger? And when?"

"Maureen!" Joanne chided.

"What?!" Maureen asked defensively, "It's a legitimate question!"

"While it *may* be a legitimate question, I don't exactly think it's appropriate—"

"Oh, and so now you're gonna treat me like a little kid? I think I can judge whether or not my questions are appropriate, thank you*very* much anyway!"

"Well, apparently you *can't* judge what is or is not appropriate if you're going to—"

"Guys!" Mimi interrupted, "Can you save the arguing for another time? Preferable one when I'm *not here*?"

Both women instantly looked guilty.

"Sorry," Joanne muttered, "Just trying to help."

Mimi sighed.

"Yeah, I know."

"So. . .?" Maureen tried again.

"Maureen!"

"I didn't say anything, Pookie."

"Forget it," Mimi broke in yet again, "It's not that big a deal. I'll just answer. I don't know, Mo. That's my only answer for you. I don't *know* what I'm going to do. I want to have this baby but—Roger—well, I can't lose him."

"How can you be sure that you would lose him?" Joanne asked.

"I don't know. He's just so. . .busy with his life, the band." She sighed, "Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm just overreacting."

Just then, the waiter arrived with their food. Maureen and Mimi both stared at the food as if it was a bomb about to go off. Joanne looked back and forth between the two of them, then sighed.

"Are you guys actually gonna eat that, or are you just gonna stare at it?"

"I'm just gonna stare at it," Maureen answered snidely.

"I don't know whether I can eat it or not," Mimi said softly, "I don't know anything anymore."

"Okay, guys, breathe," Joanne instructed impatiently, "It's *lettuce*, it's not going to hurt you."

Maureen sighed and began picking at her salad.

"So anyway. . ." she started again.

"Yeah, anyway. . ." Mimi sighed, still staring at her salad.

"Mimi. . .if you want to have this baby, then you should. Don't let Roger make up your mind for you. Especially when you haven't even told him yet."

"I guess you're right but. . .I can't do this alone."

"Well, then it sounds to me like you have to do the first thing first."

"And that would be?"

"Tell Roger."

~~~**~~~

Mark walked through Tompkins Square Park, camera in hand, in search of a shot that would complete his newest documentary and bring him the money he so desperately needed. He'd been searching for the shot for nearly three weeks, always in the park.

He'd told himself that it was because it was nearby, convenient. He'd told himself it was because he found inspiration there. But really he knew it was because he was hoping to run into Aimee again. He'd seen her there nearly every day since she'd been in the hospital, but hadn't yet had the nerve to approach her.

She was there this morning as well, sitting on the bench where he'd first seen her, the same battered black notebook perched on her knee. Every few seconds, she would look down and write a few words, but mostly she just seemed to be looking around. Mark filmed for a few minutes, but then guilt got the best of him and he shut the camera off and just watched her.

Mark walked towards her bench, trying to look casual. He kept his back to her and pretended to be fascinated by a nearby hotdog vendor.

"So, are you going to talk to me, or are you just going to keep pretending you're here to work?"

"What?" Mark jumped and turned around, blushing crimson.

"You heard me."

"But—I—I didn't even know you were here!" Mark lied.

Aimee snorted.

"Right. You just like to walk in the park every afternoon, wasting time, film, and money you don't have."

"I'm working on my documentary!" Mark protested.

"Sure. Whatever you say." She moved over and motioned to the spot on the bench beside her. "Sit."

Mark obeyed, resisting the sudden urge to salute her.

"Okay. . .I'm here. . .I'm talking. . .what do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. You're the one who's been following me. It's only logical to think that you must have *something* to say to me."

"I—um. . .well. . .I guess. . .maybe I want to know you?"

"Right."

"No, really. I want to get to know you."

"Why?" she asked, as though it was the strangest thing she'd ever heard. 

"Because. . .you seem like an interesting person?" Mark shrugged, "You always have that notebook. Are you a writer?"

"Poet," she answered softly, "Just amateur though. I'm not really any good."

"Hey now, don't judge yourself by how much you sell. Just because there's not a demand for you work doesn't mean it isn't good. People are stupid. They wouldn't know real art if it slapped them in the face."

Aimee shook her head.

"I don't write for other people. I write for myself."

Mark laughed nervously.

"That works too."

"You're a filmmaker?" she asked.

"Yeah. I never sell anything either though. I show people what they don't want to see."

Aimee looked at him thoughtfully.

"In other words, you show them the truth. People hate it when you do that. It makes them think."

"Yeah. People don't do much of that anymore."  
  


Aimee glanced at her watch.

"Look, I have to go. Someone's expecting me."

"Okay," Mark said, watching her get up disappointedly. "Wait!"

"Yeah?"

"Can I. . .take you to dinner sometime—just to talk?" he added hastily.

Aimee looked at him hard for a moment, then nodded.

"Okay. Tomorrow. Meet me at the Life Café at six."

Mark watched her leave, then turned and walked back to the loft, grinning like an idiot.

~~~**~~~

Review Please


	13. Revelations

Author's Note: Sorry for the short update. The next chapter will be much longer, I promise.

~~~**~~

Chapter 13: Revelations

February 6th

5:54 PM

The Life Café

Mark stood outside the café, his hands in his pockets, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably in the cold just-before dusk air. His heart was pounding and he suddenly felt like an intruder. He tried to look casual, to blend into the street, half expecting someone to come up to him and ask him what he was doing there.

Mark hadn't been on a date (he'd tried to convince himself that this wasn't one but his brain simply refused to obey) in nearly three years. Not since he'd broken up with Maureen. He wasn't sure he remembered how. What was there to say? He'd invited Aimee to dinner with him to talk, and now he had nothing to say. What would she do? Leave? Worse yet, laugh at him?

Poor little antisocial Marky, he doesn't know how to talk, Mark thought bitterly.

He had half convinced himself to save his pride and leave when he saw her. Her hair was curly tonight and loose, falling in long tendrils around her face and shoulders. She was wearing a long-sleeved crimson shirt and a floor length denim skirt. Mark felt his palms begin to sweat.

"What happened to you?" Aimee asked brusquely, stopping in front of him.

"What do you mean?" Mark stammered nervously. 

"You look like you just got run over by a truck."

"Huh?"

"Nevermind." Aimee held out her arm for Mark to escort her inside. He stood there staring at it blankly for a moment, then snapped out of it and took her arm.

"You're late," he observed, looking at his watch.

"So? You're early. So on average we're both right on time."

Mark laughed.

"I'll have to remember that one."

They sat in one of the booths and just stared at one another for a moment.

"I feel like I'm back in high school," Mark said after a moment.

"Oh, I'm sorry for you then," Aimee said disgustedly, "Nothing like high school to make you feel inadequate." She paused for a moment, then added, "That and love."

Mark laughed.

"True."

"So. . .you invited me here to talk. Impress me."

"Umm. . .blah?" Mark said lamely.

"Oh that's great, Shakespeare."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Maybe."

"Every time I see you. . .it seems like you're always getting hurt. I know you can't be that clumsy so. . ."

Aimee eyed him suspiciously.

"Why should I trust you?"

Mark floundered for a response.

"Umm. . .because. . .I'm antisocial and I don't know how to talk to people, so therefore you know I'll never spill your secret."

Aimee laughed.

"True."

"So. . .?"

"You won't tell Tom?"

"Not if you don't want me to."

"Okay then. . ." she sighed, "I guess it's about time I told someone."

The waiter arrived and deposited two coffee cups in front of them. Aimee sat silently for a few moments, staring at her reflection in the dark brown liquid. It was the same color as her eyes, Mark noted thoughtfully.

"I used to live with my boyfriend, Jake. I mean. . .I still see him. We started going out in high school and got way too serious way too fast. I got pregnant and we ran away together," she paused for a moment, her eyes far off, lost in thought. "Then Jake started getting into alcohol. He was violent when he drank and he drank all the time. He threw me into a wall one night and I. . .I lost the baby."

"And you're still with him?" Mark asked incredulously.

Aimee nodded.

"He always apologizes. I know. . .that he loves me. He just can't help what he does. I'm afraid of what it would do to him if I left him."

Mark was just staring at her in shock.

"But Aimee. . .you can't let him keep doing this to you."

"He's getting better though!" Aimee protested, "And anyway, what would you know?"

"I would know that any relationship that lands you in the hospital is one you should get out of immediately." Mark said calmly.

"But it would kill him!" 

"And what if he kills you first?" Mark asked softly.

"I—I don't know! But. . .how could I live with myself if he. . .If I knew it was my fault? And Mark. . .I'm afraid of him. Of what he would do to me. . ."

"Then there's no question about it. You should definitely end it now."

Aimee sighed.

"I know. . .I'm just not sure I can."

"Of course you can. You can do anything you put your mind to. You of all people should know that. You're always spouting philosophy. . .so. . .listen to yourself."

She looked at him uncertainly.

"You really think?"

"Yes. Look. . .if I can manage to talk to you, a complete stranger, and actually feel okay about it. . .I'm sure you can manage to stand up for yourself."

Aimee smiled at Mark.

"Thanks."

"Anything."

~~~**~~~

Review please. And yes, I do still want random suggestions. 


	14. With or Without

~~~**~~~

Chapter 14: With or Without

February 12th

6:43 AM

The Loft

Roger awoke with a start to the sound of Mimi throwing up in the bathroom. It took him a moment to register what was going on, then he sat up and stumbled to the bathroom, pushing open the door with one hand and shading his eyes from the light with the other.

She was kneeling in front of the toilet, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, her cheeks wet with tears. Roger fell to his knees beside her, gently pulling her hair back out of her face and laying a hand on her shoulder.

"You okay?" Roger asked anxiously, "What happened?"

Mimi shook her head, swallowing hard.

"I'm fine. I feel better now."

"You sure?" Roger asked, helping her to her feet.

"It's nothing."

Roger watched her nervously as she washed and dried her face and pulled her hair back into a messy ponytail. Mimi turned and walked into the living room, sitting down on the couch. It creaked loudly and she gave it a wary look.

"You're up early," Mark observed from his seat at the kitchen table.

"Yeah," Roger muttered, still watching Mimi as though he was afraid she would disappear.

"Um. . .okay," Mark replied, "Did something happen?"

"No." Mimi answered immediately.

"Yes." Roger answered simultaneously.

"Wow." Said Mark, looking back and forth at one of them and then the other. "Anyone wanna let me in on this?"

Mimi looked at the floor. Roger walked over and sat down beside her, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

"Roger, leave me alone," Mimi muttered, shoving him off.

"Why? Tell me what happened."

"*Nothing* happened. I just wasn't feeling very well this morning."

"Mimi, if you're sick you need to go to the doctor."

"Thanks, Mom," she muttered, standing up.

"Mimi, I'm serious."

"Roger, stop babying me!"

"Guys!" Mark broke in, "Do I get a clue here, or do I have to watch you two turn my apartment into a war zone without even knowing what you're fighting about?"

"Mimi's sick and she refuses to tell me why." Roger accused.

"And Roger can't seem to grasp the concept that *nothing* is wrong and I want to be left *alone.*"

"Why won't you tell me?"

"Because it's none of your business and I'm not ready to tell you yet!"

"Why?!" Roger shouted, suddenly suspicious. "What did you do?"

"Nothing! Just leave me the hell alone, Roger!"

"Fine!" Roger shouted, "Fine, I will!"

He turned and walked into their room, slamming the door behind him.

Mimi sat back down on the couch, sighing loudly. After a few seconds, they heard the sound of Roger tuning his guitar through the closed door.

"You want to tell me what's really going on here?" Mark asked, peeling a banana.

Mimi looked at him thoughtfully.

"Promise you won't tell Roger?"

Mark laughed.

"Yeah."

"Promise you won't freak out?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I'm pregnant."

"WHAT?!"

"You said you weren't gonna freak out."

"But—you're—"

"Yes, Mark, pregnant. You know when you have sex with a guy and all of a sudden there's this thing called a baby growing in your stomach?"

"I know what it *means*," Mark insisted, blushing.

"Good," Mimi smiled sweetly at him. "Because you're gonna need to."

"What are you going to do?"

"Keep it, of course."

"You're—nevermind. . .when are you going to tell Roger?"

"I don't know."

"You're going to have to."

"No, really. Got any thoughts on how?"

"No. . .not really. . .I mean, do you want me to talk to him?"

Mimi looked at him for a moment, then nodded.

"Okay," Mark agreed, looking timidly at the closed door to Roger's room.

He walked over and knocked lightly on the door. When there was no response, he opened the door and walked in anyway.

Roger was sitting on the bed, playing what sounded like random chords on his guitar and humming along.

"Rog?" Mark said anxiously.

"Go away."

"Roger, let me talk to you."

Roger turned around, set his guitar down and flopped onto his back. Mark shut the door to the bedroom and sat down on the side of the bed.

"So?" Roger said impatiently.

"Mimi. . .um. . .she's. . ." Mark trailed off and shrugged.

"She's what?" Roger demanded, "What did she tell you? Is she with Benny again?"

"No! Nothing like that!"

"Then what!"

"She's. . .pregnant. . ." Mark mumbled.

"What?"

"Pregnant!"

Roger gaped at him.

"Close your mouth, you look like a fish."

"But. . .she's. . ." Roger just stood there sputtering.

"Yes, pregnant. Go talk to her."

"No."

"Yes!" Mark pushed Roger toward the door.

Roger stumbled out into the living room, refusing to meet Mimi's gaze. She stood up and faced him her hands on her hips. Mark gave Mimi an encouraging smile.

"Umm. . .hi?" Roger offered.

"Hey." Mimi laughed softly.

"So you're. . ."

"Yeah."

"How long? Are you sure? Have you been to the doctor?"

"Eight weeks, yes I'm sure, yes I've been to the doctor."

Roger took a deep breath.

"O. . .kay. . .what are you going to do?"

"I want to have it, Rog."

"But Mimi. . .how. . .I mean, it's not even safe!" Roger voice was starting to shake as the realization hit him.

"I don't care, Rog."

"Mimi, you're not strong enough. Face it. You're not. And where are we going to get the money?"

"I don't care, Roger. I 8am* strong enough. And we'll find the money somewhere."

"I won't let y you!" Roger shouted suddenly. "You don't know what y you're saying!"

Mimi regarded him coolly, looking him straight in the eye.

"Roger, I'm going to have this baby. With or without you."

~~~**~~~


	15. Valentine's Day

~~~**~~~

Chapter 15: Valentine's Day

February 14th

10:13 AM

The Loft

"Come on, guys," Mark complained as Roger and Mimi passed each other in the living room for the third time that morning, still refusing to speak. "It's Valentine's day. You can't spend the entire day fighting."

"Mark, shut up," Roger muttered, digging through the kitchen closets for some unknown treasure.

"No." Mark answered stubbornly.

"What?"

"I said no. I will not shut up. I've had it with you two acting like you'll start a fire if you so much as give each other a civil glance. This is Valentine's Day, everyone will be here in less than an hour, and I refuse to let you and your abominable temper ruin the party for everyone."

Roger stared at him in shock.

"Wow. I didn't know you knew how to say that many words at one time."

"Well you know what they say. You learn something new everyday. And I'm just full of surprises. Now go _talk to her."_

"Will you shut up if I do?"

"Yes."

Roger sighed.

"All right then."

Roger walked into their bedroom where Mimi was lying on the bed, staring listlessly up at the ceiling.

"Mimi?" Roger said softly.

She didn't answer. Didn't even move.

"Can I talk to you?"

"Whatever."

"Look. . .um. . .maybe I overreacted the other day. . .but. . .I really think you need to give this some more thought before you make a decision."

"My decision is made."

"Mimi. . ."

"What, Roger?" she snapped, sitting up suddenly, her eyes blazing with anger. "I am having this baby. I don't care what you think, or what you're going to do. If you're going to leave, fine. If you're going to throw me out, fine. If you have a problem with this commitment, then let me know now because I'll need time to figure out how I'm going to do this without you. But I _will _do it."

"Mimi, this has _nothing _to do with commitment."

"Then what, Roger?"

Roger turned away from her and began to pace the length of the room silently. Mimi watched him closely, her eyes cold.

"I'm waiting."

"I'm scared, Mimi."

She snorted.

"Nice try."

"Mimi. . .It'll kill you! Please, _please don't do this to yourself_."

"Roger. . ." Mimi stood up and walked over to him, laying her hands on his shoulders. "It'll be fine. I talked to the doctor about it. It's safer for me to have the baby."

Roger studied her closely.

"You're sure this is what you want?"

"Yes!" she insisted vehemently.

Roger sighed.

"All right."

Mimi smiled weakly.

"So then. . .are we okay?"

Roger nodded reluctantly.

"Yeah. . .yeah, I guess we are."

Mimi laughed in relief and wrapped her arms around his waist. Roger leaned down and kissed her gently.

"So. . .we're gonna be parents." Roger murmured, his voice filled with wonder.

"Yeah."

"With. . .a child. . ."

Mimi laughed.

"Very good, Einstein. Come on, it sounds like the others are here."

She grabbed Roger's hand and led him out into the living room where Maureen, Joanne, Collins, and Aimee were gathered around the counter. 

Everyone stared at Mimi for a moment, then Maureen stepped forward and regarded her shyly.

"Can I touch it?"

Mimi gave her an odd look.

"What?"

"Your stomach. You know, can I touch it?"

Mimi glared at Maureen.

"What?" Maureen asked innocently.

"Could you be a little more obvious?"

Maureen looked at the ground and grinned sheepishly.

"We already know." Collins said from behind her.

"You. . .what? Maureen!"

"I'm sorry. . .they just. . .I had to tell _someone_. I'm just way too excited to contain myself."

"Maureen. . ."

"Hey, hey, guys!" Mark interrupted.

"Well if it isn't Marky the peacemaker emerging." Aimee commented from her seat on the couch.

Mark smiled at her then turned back to Maureen and Mimi.

"Enough standing around. Let's do something."

"Was that a come-on?" Maureen asked.

"No!" Mark yelped. "You know what I meant. It's Valentine's Day. Let's play a game or something."

Maureen grinned slyly at him.

"I think I have just the thing." She turned and walked into the kitchen.

"Oh, God, no." Mark groaned.

Maureen held up an empty soda bottle from the night before.

"Spin the bottle. The perfect Valentine's day game."

Mark groaned louder.

"Do we have to?"

"Yes!" Mimi chimed in, grabbing the bottle from Maureen.

She placed it on the floor in the center of the room and motioned for the others to sit in a circle. Everyone obeyed, and sat eyeing the bottle as if it were a lit explosive.

"Mark spins first." Maureen instructed.

Mark groaned, but did what he was told.

The bottle flew a few feet across the circle and landed in Aimee's lap. Mark blushed crimson and looked at the floor.

"Okay, lovebirds," Maureen cooed, "Time for the kissypoo." 

Aimee got up and walked across the room. 

"I refuse to be put through the indignity of this game." She turned and walked across the room and out onto the fire escape.

"What?" Mark asked, stunned, "The indignity of kissing me? That's undignified?"

He followed her out, closing the door behind him.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly when he saw that she was crying. "It's only a game."

"I know. . .I just. . .I can't. I want to and I can't. Jake. . .he'd kill me."

"Which is exactly why you need to break things off with him."

"I'm afraid, Mark. Afraid of what he would do."

Mark gently took her chin in his hand, tipping her face up until she was looking directly into his eyes.

"Whatever he does, it can't be worse than what he's already done to you."

Aimee looked thoughtful.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right."

She stepped forward and gently wrapped her arms around Mark's neck, burying her face in his shoulder.

"Hey." He murmured, "Hey, it's okay. It's okay."

She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with tears.

"Thanks."

Mark smiled shyly.

"Do I get that kiss now?"

Aimee smiled back.

"Sure."

She leaned up, and caught his lips in a long, tender kiss. Mark closed his eyes, thinking that this was the closest he'd ever get to heaven.

~~~**~~~

Yeah, I know. Sappysappysappy. Please review.


	16. A Walk in the Park

Chapter 16: A Walk in the Park

February 23rd

8:42 PM

Tompkins Square Park

Aimee walked quickly through the park on her way to the loft. She hated being out alone after dark, but she'd just come from Jake's apartment. She'd gone there to end things with him once and for all on Mark's suggestion, only to find the entire apartment trashed and deserted, broken and empty beer bottles strewn all across the floor.

A group of junkies sneered at her as she walked by, shouting suggestive comments. Aimee shivered slightly in the damp night air, pulling her old red sweatshirt closer around her shoulders. The Man leered at her, his mouthful of yellowed and broken teeth illuminated by the eerie orange glow of a street light. Aimee turned her face away determined not to meet his dark gaze. She stopped a few feet from the edge of the park, her skin suddenly crawling with suspicion.

"Who's there?" she called uncertainly, feeling as if she'd been dropped into the middle of some bizarre horror movie.

"Turn around and see, whore," came the answer, sending a burst of adrenaline through her body.

Aimee turned around slowly, trying to look confident.

A figure stepped out of the shadows just enough so that she could make out its silhouette. Baggy black jeans and a black undershirt, equally black hair plastered up into pointed spikes.

"Jake." She whispered.

"Damn right, whore."

"Don't call me that!"

"Aw, the poor little girl must think she's positively _virtuous _." Jake mocked. He stepped out of the shadows completely, standing just a few inches away from her. She could smell the beer on his breath.

"Leave me alone, Jake. I've humored you long enough."

"Oh, that's what you call it? Humoring me? You'd be out on the street if it wasn't for me. You'd be worse than dead."

"I can take care of myself, Jake. It's time for you to learn." Aimee said firmly, her confidence growing.

"Really? So that's why you decided to cheat on me? I wasn't good enough for you any more so you went and got yourself another guy?" Jake sneered.

"What?"

"Oh, don't play dumb, whore. That guy you meet here every day."

Aimee gasped.

"How do you know about Mark?"

Jake laughed.

"Thought you could get away with it, huh? When tyou stopped coming to see me I knew there had to be something wrong. I must say, I thought you had better taste in men."

"You've been spying on me?"

"Well when a woman is disloyal it calls for extreme measures."

"You bastard!"

Jake grabbed her around the neck with one large hand, whipping a small razor out of his pocket with the other.

"You say that again, whore."

"Jake. . ." Aimee gasped, starting to cry. "Let me go, Jake. It's over."

"NO!" Jake screamed, pressing the knife against her throat. "You can't leave me! I won't let you!"

He pressed the knife in closer and a few drops of blood trickled down her neck.

"Jake, don't do this," she pleaded, "You don't know what you're doing."

"Either you stay with me or you die!"

"NO! Please Jake, stop."

He pressed the knife in harder and a long line of blood appeared against Aimee's dark skin. Just then, a police car sped by on the street, it's siren blaring. Jake let go of her and raced off into the night. Aimee collapsed, sobbing, to the ground, her shirt and sweater soaked with blood.

~~~**~~~

February 23rd

9:01 PM

The Loft

"I don't know what to get her!" Mark groaned, throwing his hands up helplessly.

Roger gave him a look.

"You mean you didn't think about this until _now?"_

"No!" Mark protested, "I've been thinking about it all week, I just still don't know."

"Well, she'll be here in less than ten minutes, so you'd better make a decision."

"I can't! Help me?" Mark begged.

Mimi put down the magazine she'd been reading and looked at Mark.

"Come on, Mark, it's just a birthday gift. How hard can it be?"

"Pretty damn impossible whe you look at it from his perspective," Roger snorted.

"Well. . .I mean. . .what do you give your ex for her birthday?"

Just then, the doorbell rang. Maureen bounced in, dressed in what looked like a hot pink prom dress and matching boots, a paper Burger King crown pershed on top of her unruly mass of dark brown curls.

"Oh. My. God." Mark yelped.

"What?" Maureen asked, smiling sweetly.

"It's My Size Barbie come to life," Roger muttered dryly.

Maureen giggled.

"Than you. I'll assume you like it, then."

Mark and Roger exchanged a pained look.

"Well. . .it's. . .unique."

Joanne came straggling in a moment later, lugging a huge pink birthday cake.

Roger picked up his guitar and began playing "Happy Birthday" while Maureen and Mimi waltzed a horrifed Mark around the room, giggling hysterically.

Joanne stood looking on, her face a mixture of horror and amusement.

"Hey," she said suddenly, during a break in the action, "Has anyone heard from Collins? He should be here."

The room fell silent.

As if on cue, there was another knock on the door and a very anxious looking Collins entered.

"Collins?" Maureen asked nervously, "What's wrong?"

Collins frowned.

"I hate to spoil the party, but have any of you seen Aimee? She told me she was going for a walk in the park this morning and I haven't heard from her all day."

The room remained silent.

"I'm going to go look for her," Collins said somberly.

Mark jumped up.

"I'll go with you."

He was out the door before anyone could comment.

It took then nearly half an hour to find her in the dark. She was lying sprawled out, unconscious and soaked in blood on the same bench where Mark had first seen her. 

Collins looked at Mark.

"Stay here with her. I'm going back to the loft to call an ambulance."

~~~**~~~

Review and I *might* let her live…::grins evilly::


	17. Secrets and Assumptions

~~~**~~~

Chapter 17: Secrets and Assumptions

February 24th

9:00 AM

"So how did it happen?" Collins asked, sitting down in a char beside Aimee's hospital bed. 

It had been a rough night for all of them. Everyone except Mark had stayed until nearly dawn, finally agreeing to leave when Mimi fell asleep sitting on the waiting room floor. Mark had spent the entire night restlessly prowling the halls of the hospital, trying to imprint all the sights into his mind since he hadn't had time to bring his camera. 

"I don't feel like talking about that right now," Aimee answered defiantly.

"You have to talk about it sometime."

"Fine. I got mugged. End of story."

"Aimee. . ." Collins sighed and tried to take her hand. "That's not all that's going on here and you and I both know it. If it was just one incident, maybe I'd believe you. But you came to stay with me for some secret reason, you've been getting hurt for the last two months for some secret reason and now you nearly died and you won't tell me how the hell any of this is happening!"

Collins took a deep breath, surprised that he'd been shouting. 

"Come on, Aimee, why are you hiding things from me?"

Aimee laughed bitterly.

"Why am **I** hiding things? What about **you**?" 

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"You! The way you left! Just left. Mom and Dad would never tell me what happened. You were too damn selfish to stay with us and the family fell apart when you left. It's you fault!" Aimee screamed back at him.

Collins stared at her in shock, completely taken aback.

"You think I left because I didn't **want **to stay? I'll tell you something, I wanted to stay. Mom and Dad threw me out."

"You expect me to believe that? You were their perfect son. What did you do, run off with some whore?"

Collins snorted.

"Hardly."

"Then what. I want a damn good reason here, Tom." 

Collins looked at her for a long, awkward moment, then cleared his throat.

"They um. . .they found out. . .about my boyfriend."

Aimee stared at him in shock.

"You-you mean you're. . .gay?"

Collins nodded.

Aimee continued to look shocked for a moment, then shook herself and shrugged.

"So?"

"So. . .that's why I left."

"Figures. Mom and Dad seem to have a chronic phobia of anyone or anything that doesn't fit the specified mode of normality."

Collins smiled slightly.

"So then. . .you mean you don't. . ."

"Have a problem with it? No. People are people. Some of them are different. Some of them are narrow minded and stupid. I'm not one of them."

Collins sighed in relief, then suddenly turned serious again.

"Okay, I told you my secret. Now you tell me yours."

Aimee stared at the bed sheet in front of her.

"My boyfriend, Jake. Or I should say ex-boyfriend. He pretty much ruined my life, although I did love him. I left home because I got pregnant. And things. . .pretty much went downhill after that. Jake got into drugs and alcohol . . .then he started. . .last night. . ." she trailed off, starting to cry. "Don't hate me."

Collins hugged her gently.

"It's okay. I love you, you know that?"

"Yeah," she said softly.

"But no more secrets, okay?"

"Okay."

~~~**~~~

March 3rd

2:12 PM

The Loft

Mimi carefully rolled up her sleeves and opened the closet door, preparing to face the task of cleaning it out. Neither she nor Roger was much concerned with keeping things neat, but she'd decided that if she was going to be raising a child in the loft, things had to change. She bent down and pulled out one of the boxes that had never been unpacked from her move to the loft and began rooting through it, throwing random pieces of junk on the floor.

An old fake flower, several pairs of Roger's dirty boxers, a sculpture that a very drunk Collins had made out of bobby pins, a pack of rainbow condoms. She stopped as she came across the old pair of shiny blue stretch pants she'd been wearing the night she met Roger, smiling fondly at them and folding them onto the bed. She was nearly down to the bottom of the box when she saw it. 

Mimi stopped and stared at it, her entire body frozen in fear.

An old, rust covered needle leered up at her from the very bottom of the box, as if it had been placed there by some unseen hand, to remind her that she would be punished for her mistakes.

Mimi reached forward, staring at her own hand in fascination and horror, and picked it up very carefully. She held it up to the light and examined it closely, utterly repulsed by the sight, wondering how she'd managed to inflict these things on her own skin for years. 

"Mimi! What the **hell** are you doing?!" Roger's voice made her jump and she dropped the needle back into the box as if she'd just been burned by it.

"Roger!" she leapt to her feet, trying to shake the feeling that she'd just been caught doing something forbidden. "I was. . .cleaning. You know, for the baby."

"Like hell you were. Damn it, Mimi, how can you think you're going to be a good mother when you can't even take care of yourself?" 

Roger sounded more hurt than angry and she hated that more than anything.

"Roger, I **told** you," she pleaded, "I was cleaning. Looking through all this shit that we never went through after I moved in and I just—I just found it. I was going to throw it away!"

Roger pushed her roughly aside, grabbed the needle in his fist, walked across the room and flung it as hard as he could out the window.

"There. Now it's thrown away." 

He glared at Mimi.

"You never are going to trust me, are you?" she asked quietly.

"Not when you act like this!"

"How do you even know what **this **is?" Mimi snapped back at him.

"I know what I saw."

"No you don't! You only know what you wanted to see. That's your problem, Roger. You're so damn selfish you refuse to even listen to anyone else. It always has to be your way." 

Roger just stared at her for a moment, then turned and walked out, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

~~~**~~~

Review please! 


	18. Heartbeats in a Thunderstorm

~~~**~~~

Chapter 18: Heartbeats in a Thunderstorm

March 11th

6:41 PM

The Loft

"I. . .am not. . .believing this," Roger murmured, his voice tinged with awe as he and Mimi walked into the loft.

"See? Even **you** have to admit it's exciting."

"I didn't say it wasn't!" Roger protested.

"Sure you didn't." she muttered, "I'm gonna go lie down."

She turned and stalked off to their bedroom, leaving Roger staring after her in confusion.

"O. . .kay. . ." he muttered.

"Having fun yet, Dad?" Mark asked from behind him, making Roger jump. "How was the checkup?"

Roger resumed grinning like an idiot.

"Amazing."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Roger leaned in closer to Mark, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "We heard the baby's heartbeat."

"Yeah, I kind of thought you might get to."

Roger gave Mark a funny look.

"How'd you get to be the expert on pregnancy all of a sudden?"

Mark grinned sheepishly and showed Roger the book he was holding.

"This."

"Pregnancy for Dummies," Roger read aloud, smirking, "Dork."

"Hey! If I have to put up with you two fighting about this all the time, I want to at least be well informed."

Roger shrugged and began rooting through the kitchen for something to eat. He finally found a box of chocolate chip cookies and began wolfing them down.

Mark gave him a look of utter disgust.

"Do you even know how old those are?"

Roger gave the box a once-over, then shrugged again.

"Tastes okay."

Mark grimaced.

"Just don't blame me when you get sick. So does this mean that you and Mimi are on speaking terms again?"

Roger sighed.

"I don't know what kind of terms we're on. I mean, I know mood swings are normal but really. . ."

Mark nodded silently. Roger and Mimi had been alternately fighting and then reconciling on and off for the past week and a half. No one had said anything more about the incident with the needle, but it certainly hadn't been forgotten by either one of them. It seemed that everyone was having second and third thoughts about the baby.

Roger polished off his box of cookies and tossed the remaining cardboard into the trash.

"I guess I'd better go make sure she's okay."

"Good idea." Mark answered, a little too quickly.

Roger turned back to him, grinning suspiciously.

"Hey, Mark, do I sense that you're trying to get rid of me?"

Mark blushed.

"Maybe."

"Hot date, or what?"

"Maybe."

Roger coughed.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

Roger grinned.

"Okay. I'll get out of your way."

Roger turned and went into the bedroom where he found Mimi sitting on the floor with her back to him, piles of cash spread out around her.

"Mimi?" he asked cautiously, coming up behind her and putting his hands on her shoulders. He realized suddenly that she was crying. "Baby, what's wrong?"

She turned around and threw her arms around his neck in a suffocating hug.

"I can't do this, Rog."

"What?"

"Have this baby! I can't do it, Rog. Where am I going to get the money from? And how the hell am I supposed to raise a child? I mean, God, I can't even take care of myself!"

"Mimi. . ." Roger was at a complete loss for words. "What are you saying? A minute ago you were all excited. . ."

"I don't give a damn what I was a minute ago!" she sobbed, pushing him away roughly, "You don't understand anything!"

"You're right," Roger snapped, "I **don't **understand. You insist on having this baby, you're perfectly happy one minute, and then the next you're miserable. What do you want me to say?"

"A little sympathy would be nice!" she shouted at him. "It's all about you!"

"Mimi, it's not. I just—how can I know what you want me to say when you're changing your mind every few seconds?"

"I don't know!" she yelled, starting to cry again.

Roger got up and wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face against his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Shhh," Roger whispered, rubbing her back, "It'll be okay. We'll get through this somehow."

~~~**~~~

Mark nearly hit the ceiling he jumped so hard when the knock finally came. Aimee was more than twenty minutes late, and he'd been starting to worry that she'd stood him up. He rushed to open the door, hitting himself in the foot with it in the process.

"Ouch!" he yelped, grinning sheepishly. Aimee shook her head, trying not to laugh at him. She was dressed in khaki jeans and a blue shirt and drenched from head to toe.

"You're wet," Mark commented. 

Aimee nodded.

"It's raining. Well, pouring, actually."

"It is?" Mark looked out the window for a minute, then jumped back. "It is! Come in."

Mark closed the door behind her, then resumed pacing nervously.

"So . . .what do you want to do? I'll take you to dinner, or we could get take-out, or stay in but I have to warn you that Roger and Mimi aren't exactly on the best of terms right now so-"

"Mark."

"What?"

"Shut up. You're talking a mile a minute. Staying in is fine with me, especially seeing as how it's raining buckets outside. If you want to invite Roger and Mimi to join us, it's fine."

Mark shook his head.

"Nah. That's fine. They're probably both. . .busy anyway." Mark blushed slightly. 

Aimee nodded.

"Okay."

"So um. . .yeah. . .are you hungry?"

She shook her head.

"Not really. Are you?"

"No. Umm. . ."

"Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"How about you show me some of your film?"

Mark smiled enthusiastically, glad to have something to do.

"Okay!"

Mark's words were punctuated by a crash of thunder as he hurried to get his camera hooked up. He jumped slightly.

"I hate thunderstorms." He muttered, "I always feel like the roof of this shithole is going to fall in on my head."

Aimee laughed.

"Yeah, I can see why you would think that. How long have you lived here, anyway?"

Mark shrugged.

"Five years. Roger and I both agreed we had to get away from home. Our parents were. . .the definition of overprotective."

"Yeah, I know the feeling."

Mark showed her film of Maureen's protest, of everyone getting drunk at The Life the night they'd met, and finally the footage he'd gotten of her and the hotdog vendor the day they'd met.

"I can see why people don't want to buy this," she said after a minute.

"What?" Mark asked, hurt.

"Not like that!" Aimee added quickly, "It's just. . .everything in film these days is so. . .fake. And you've captured what's real in the world. People would rather live in a world of dreams they can never have than except the reality they're living. I guess I'm really no better. . ."

There was another loud crack of thunder, and the loft was plunged into darkness.

"Shit!" Mark yelped, "It does that all the time. Yet another reason why I hate storms."

Aimee came up beside him and wrapped her arm around his waist in the dark.

"You know what I always used to do in thunderstorms when I was little?"

"What?"

"I'd go hide under the covers in bed and pretend I was somewhere else." She leaned up and kissed him. 

Mark grinned down at her in the dark.

"Think we should try it?"

"I think so."

Mark leaned down and scooped her up, running toward his room with her and laughing all the way. He dumped her on the bed, both of them still giggling like teenagers. 

"Room service," Mark laughed.

"What?"

"You know, room service. The service that takes you to your room."

"Mark Cohen, you are such a **dork**. But I love you for it. . ."

Mark fell silent, fighting tears. He was glad it was too dark for her to see. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of her. She kissed him again and he gave in finally, losing himself in his own emotions.

~~~**~~~

REVIEW! Cuz I'm sick. And reviews will make me feel better…


	19. Fire

Author's Note: I think someone forgot to feed the server last night, because it decided to eat part of my last chapter. If the beginning looked weird when you read it, you might want to check back again because it's fixed now. It is a very sad day for me today. I have just realized that I probably won't be able to update at all next week because of my rehearsal schedule. That's a very depressing thought for me. ::cries:: So leave me lots of reviews to make me feel better, and check back in case I *do* get to update by some miracle.

~~~**~~~

Chapter 19: Fire

March 21st

4:13 PM

The Loft

"Mimi. . ." Roger leaned over and kissed her ear, lightly shaking her shoulder. "Mimi, wake up."

"Too early," she mumbled, slapping his hand off and pulling the covers over her head.

Roger laughed softly, then looked over his shoulder and beckoned to Mark. Mark nodded, then walked quietly into the room and took aim with his camera.

"Close up on the birthday girl who seems to be in one of her rare moods today," Mark narrated softly.

"Mimi, it's four o'clock in the afternoon. Come on, people are gonna be here soon," Roger coaxed, choking down laughter.

"Shut the hell up and leave me alone."

"Ooh, it's a fierce beast," Roger teased, starting to tickle her, "You think it'll bite me, Mark?"

"Roger, **stop**," Mimi whined, "You weren't sick all night. **STOP**."

Roger grinned.

"What are you gonna do if I don't?"

"Hurt you!"

She sat up finally and began pummeling Roger with her pillow. He leaned back to avoid a blow to the head and ended up sitting on the floor.

Mark started to laugh from his vantage point in the doorway.

"Score, Fierce Beast: one, Roger: zero."

"Shut up, Mark." Roger groaned, rubbing his head.

"What time is it?" Mimi asked finally, sitting up and yawning.

"Almost four thirty."

"Shit!"

"What?"

"I slept that late again?"

"Yeah."

"What time are people getting here?"

Roger looked guiltily at Mark.

"In about twenty minutes. I'd get dressed if I were you."

"Thanks for waking me up." Mimi grumbled, sliding off the bed and rooting through her closet for something to wear. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Okay. . .Um, happy birthday?" Roger offered lamely.

"Save it." 

Mimi stalked out of the room and slammed the bathroom door behind her.

"Did you get it all?" Roger asked Mark, laughing smugly.

"Yeah. Rog, I really don't think that was very nice. . ."

"Asshole." Roger teased, walking into the kitchen and getting himself a beer from the refrigerator.

"How many have you had?" Mark asked, shutting his camera off and setting it on the table.

"Two."

Mark went over to Roger and grabbed the beer out of his hands just as he was about to take a swig from it.

"Hey!"

"No. No more until the others get here. I don't want you passing out in the middle of the party like last time." Mark answered firmly.

"But. . .you're no fun!" Roger pouted.

Everyone began arriving in small mobs, and by the time Mimi got out of the shower the party was in full swing. Maureen and Roger were having a contest to see who could throw more chips up in the air, then catch and eat them, much to the Joanne's dismay. Mark and Aimee had retreated to a corner of the living room, giggling conspiratorially. Benny was relating the tale of his latest hot date to a very bored looking Collins.

"So, Benny, what happened to Kati?" Mimi asked loudly, coming up behind him and making him jump.

"Mimi! Happy birthday." Benny attempted to kiss her hand, but Mimi shoved him away roughly. "We-uh-we're on a break right now."

Mimi nodded.

"Uh-huh. I'm sure. Meaning you just don't know how to date one woman at a time."

She spun on her heel and walked away before Benny could defend himself. 

"Hey, Mark!" Roger called, "Can I have my beer back now?"

"You already finished it, Rog." Mark called back, "And another one."

"Gimme one more!" Roger ordered, laughing obnoxiously.

"I'll join you!" Collins called.

"Me too." Benny added.

"My God, do you guys know how to do anything besides get drunk and be rude?" Mimi asked sourly.

"Sure," Benny answered, "We know how to get laid, too."

Several rounds of drinks later, the laughter had grown much louder and the conversation much less intelligent.

"So this one time, I put the soup in the microwave and it EXPLODED!" Roger slapped the table and laughed so hard he nearly fell over backwards.

"My soup caught on fire once," Benny interrupted. "The pot melted and BAM! Flaming soup! All over the goddamn stove!"

"Hey, Mimi," Roger called, getting himself another beer, "Want one?"

Mimi just glared at him.

"Think before you speak, Rog. If you still know how to do that."

"Party pooper," Roger commented, then leaned closer to Collins, "There's a word for it when they get like that, you know. Bitch. But don't tell her I said that."

"You're drunk, Rog." Mark called from across the room.

"I heard that." Mimi added angrily.

"No you didn'," Roger slurred, "I'sa whipsering when I said i'."

"Hey, anybody got any matches?" Benny asked.

"Yeah."

Roger pulled out a pack and handed them to him.

"Let's burn stuff."

Collins pulled an ice cube out of his drink and slid it across the table.

"Burn that."

"Oh my God," Mark groaned. "I was hoping this wouldn't happen."

Aimee leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

"Yeah, it is pretty sad. Amusing though."

Back at the table, Benny had lit a match and was threatening the ice cube with it.

"Talk you rebel spy! Talk, I say! Talk!"

"Um, Benny, it can't hear you. . ." Mark muttered, looking over his shoulder at the quickly shrinking ice cube.

"It disappeared," Collins commented.

"No it din't," Roger laughed, "It wet i's pants!"

"An' then ran away!" Benny finished proudly.

"I hate men," Mimi muttered to Maureen.

Maureen looked at her like she was crazy.

"But they're so damn cute!"

Joanne cleared her throat loudly.

"As a form of entertainment, I meant."

Just then, they were interrupted by an all too familiar sound.

A fresh wave of laughter erupted from the table.

"Wow, Benny, way to cut the cheese," Collins laughed.

"Lovely aroma," Roger added.

"Did you know you can light farts on fire?" Collins asked.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Methane. Or so I've heard."

"Le's try it!" Roger shouted, jumping up and knocking his chair over in the process. "Cut us another one, Benny!"

Roger lit a match, then yelped and dropped it. It caught the rug and slowly began to burn.

"SHIT!" Roger shouted, jumping back and staring at the slowly spreading flames.

"Somebody get water!" Joanne called.

Mark grabbed the water pitcher and quickly dumped it on the fire, dousing the flames. A cloud of smoke rose a few inches off the floor.

Roger started to laugh again.

"Roger Davis!" Mimi shouted, coming over to stand in front of him. The room fell silent.

"Wha'?" Roger slurred, trying to look innocent.

Mimi reached out and slapped him hard across the cheek.

"You are such a fucking infant sometimes. I don't know how you expect to raise a child when you can't even figure out that dropping a match on the ground will set the place on fire." She started to cry. "Why can't you ever be serious?"

"I am serious!" Roger protested, still slurring his words. "I's a accident!"

"Yeah? Well maybe so was this baby!"

She turned and ran to their room, slamming and locking the door behind her. 

~~~**~~~

Review please! Cuz I'm still sick. 


	20. Commitment

~~~**~~~

Chapter 20: Commitment 

March 22nd

3:46 PM

The Loft

_Fire. There was fire everywhere. His entire body was engulfed in flame and vanishing in a thick layer of smoke. No matter how hard he tried to hold on, to resist the flames, he was powerless. Forced to watch the flames melt him, destroy him, bit by bit._

Roger woke with a start, drenched in sweat and breathing hard. He was lying on the couch, an old tattered blanket draped over him. His head was pounding incessantly and his stomach felt like a pot of boiling water.

"Shit," Roger muttered as he caught sight of the burned spot on the rug from the night before. "Mark?"

"Yeah?" Mark answered him, sounding utterly uninterested.

Roger sat up slightly, wincing as his eyes met the light. Mark was sitting at the table, scribbling on a piece of paper. 

"Remind me. . .never to drink again. . ."

Roger sat up, then staggered into the bathroom, leaning over the toilet bowl as his stomach emptied itself against his will. Mark appeared behind him a few minutes later with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol. 

"Too bad Mimi isn't here to see this," Mark commented casually, "She'd consider this sweet revenge."

"Very funny," Roger shot back, grabbing the water from Mark and gulping down four Tylenol. "Where is she anyway?"

"Locked in the bedroom. Crying, I think."

"Shit." Roger muttered again. "Was I really **that** bad?"

Mark nodded glumly.

"Worse."

Roger sighed.

"You think I should go talk to her?"

Mark quirked an eyebrow at Roger.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Stupid question."

Roger got up slowly, trying to make the room stop spinning around him. He waved Mark away, then went over to the bedroom door and knocked lightly on it. 

"Mimi?" he called softly.

"Go away."

Her voice sounded tired, hoarse. It made Roger want to dig a hole in the ground and never come out again.

"Please let me in," he tried again, "At least let me attempt to apologize before you kill me."

"No."

Roger sighed.

"Fine then. I'm going to sit outside your door until we both waste away and starve to death."

Roger sat down with his back to the wall across from the door and crossed his arms on top of his knees, waiting.

After a few minutes, he heard the door unlatch. He jumped up and went over to face Mimi. 

She was still dressed in the jeans and red tank top she'd been wearing the night before, but her clothes were wrinkled and her hair was a mass of tangles. Her eyes were red and he could see dried tear tracks on her cheeks.

"God, Mimi. . ." Roger whispered. He reached out to touch her cheek, but she grabbed his wrist, pushing his hand away. "I'm sorry."

"Too bad."

"Guys, I'm going for groceries!" Mark called, practically fleeing the loft.

"Can we talk?" Roger asked softly.

Mimi cocked her head to one side, regarding him coolly. For a moment Roger was struck by how incredibly feline she looked, realizing that he'd caught Fender looking at him the same way the previous morning. He smiled slightly, then instantly regretted it when he saw her eyes flash with anger.

"My God, Roger. What the hell do you find so damn amusing about all of this?"

"Nothing!" Roger protested, throwing up his hands helplessly, "It was just the way you were looking at me. I was thinking that-"

"That what? It's amusing to make me mad?"

"No!"

"You want me to talk? I'll talk!"

"Mimi-"

"What? You're gonna offer me some kind of half-assed reason why I should forgive you, right? Well listen to me for just a second. Look at it from my perspective, if you're capable of hearing through that enormous ego of yours. Maybe you haven't realized it yet, but I am going to have your child in a little less than six months. And the only thing you can say to me about it is that you're thrilled and that we'll deal with it somehow. Now tell me, in the last month, what have you done to help me prepare for this? And don't think this is just about last night, Roger. If I'd thought that you were even capable of being serious about this, about me, then maybe I'd let it go."

"Mimi, I'm sorry, okay? Maybe I'm not ready for this! It's not like I asked for it!"

"You know what, Roger? Neither did I. But that doesn't mean we can just pretend it isn't going to happen. Because nothing can change that now. I made my decision and I'm not going back. Whether you like it or not. I'm stuck here. I have to make a choice, apparently. I want to be with you, and I want to have this baby. But apparently I can't have both. And Roger, I hate to say this, but you're not exactly in my favor at the moment. So you tell me. If you were in my position, what would you choose?"

Roger just stood there for a moment, searching for a response.

"Look, Mimi, I hear you. And I don't blame you for feeling this way. I'll admit I haven't done a very good job of supporting you lately. But. . .I'm not even sure where to start! Give me a chance!"

"Give you a chance? Roger, we only get one fucking chance at this! It isn't some kind of game!"

"I **know** that!" Roger shouted, "Please, just tell me what you need and I'll do it!"

"What do I need? I need a commitment." She went over to stand in front of him, taking both of his hands firmly in hers. "Look, Roger, I don't want to do this alone. But I need to know you'll be there when I need you."

Roger nodded slowly, a smile creeping its way over his face. He grinned at her, then slowly got down on one knee, still holding her hand.

"Marry me?" he asked, still grinning.

"What?" she looked thoroughly shocked.

"Will you marry me? You know, where I buy you a ring and everything?"

She looked at him and shook her head in disbelief, her face a mixture of amusement and utter shock.

"Nice comeback."

"Well, will you?"

She looked away from him for a minute, her eyes sparkling with tears.

"Damn it, Roger, I hate you."

"Why?"

"Because. . .because I can't say no when you ask me something like that. No matter how hard I try not to I still love you!"

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes," she whispered, then louder, "**Yes**."

Mimi knelt down in front of him and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder, still crying.

"God, I thought you'd never ask."

"I love you." Roger said softly.

"I know. I love you too." She laughed softly. "God, Roger, can we all live happily ever after now?"

Roger smiled into her hair.

"Sure, babe. Anything you want."

~~~**~~~

Review please. Cuz this is the last happy chapter you get for a while. A VERY log while.


	21. Out the Window

~~~**~~~

Chapter 21: Out the Window

April 13th

9:42 AM

The Loft

Roger stood staring at the phone as if it was a bomb with a lit fuse, ready to explode at any moment. His heart was pounding and his mouth had gone dry. Calling his mother was the last thing in the world he wanted to do, but he'd been promising Mimi he'd tell her about the baby and Joanne had already agreed to let Roger borrow her car so he and Mimi could drive to Scarsdale to see her. There was no turning back.

Roger sighed and dialed the number as quickly as he could, forcing himself to stand and listen to the dial tone instead of simply slamming down the receiver as he had so many times before.

"Hello?"

Roger winced at the sound of his mother's voice. She always sounded so tense.

"Mom?"

"Roger! Honey, it's so good to hear your voice. I haven't spoken to you since Christmas!"

"I. . .um. . .I've been busy."

"Well that's wonderful. How **are** you?"

"I'm. . . great?" Roger sighed, knowing that his next statement would end the pleasantries. "Look, Mom, I'm calling because I have to tell you something."

There was a moment of silence, then Roger heard her sigh too.

"Well, then I guess you'd better tell me."

"You remember my girlfriend Mimi?"

"Yes." She sounded suspicious.

"Well, we're getting married."

"Roger, honey, do you really think that's wise? I mean you've never really been much of one to-"

"And she's pregnant." Roger finished quickly.

There was another long silence.

"And you're happy with that?" she asked finally.

"Yes!" Roger answered emphatically, "I love her and whatever it takes to be with her, that's what I'll do. This is. . .this is what I've always wanted." Roger finished, knowing that the last part was far from true.

""Well, then, I guess I'm happy for you. It's just that you're the boy who always told me you were never getting married because you hated the idea of family life."

Roger paused, taken aback at that.

"I guess I never knew I wanted it before." He answered, feeling strangely trapped, suffocated. "All I know is that I want it now."

"All right, fair enough. I guess a congratulations is in order then."

"Thanks. Um. . .do you think we could. . .maybe drive up and have dinner with you sometime?"

"Why, yes, Roger, I would love that. Did you have a date in mind?"

Roger cleared his throat.

"I was kind of thinking. . .um, tonight?"

"Well that certainly **is **a surprise."

"I hope it's not a problem."

"No, no, of **course** not! I'd love to have you."

"So then I'll see you later?" Roger asked, taking a deep breath.

"Certainly."

"Bye then."

"Goodbye."

Roger hung up and took a deep, steadying breath, then went back out into the living room. Mimi, Mark, and Aimee were sitting around the small table, looking through magazines for possible nursery schemes.

"And so?" Mimi asked, looking up hopefully.

"I did it." Roger grinned at the look of happiness that instantly spread over her face.

Mimi stood up and went over to Roger, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder.

"What did she say?"

"Congratulations. And that she wants us to drive up and have dinner with her and my dad tonight."

Mimi grinned and kissed him.

"See? That wasn't so bad."

"No." Roger kissed her back. "But it could've been."

"But it wasn't."

Mimi giggled and kissed him again.

"My God," Mark muttered, "Better be careful, Rog, or you're not gonna have any lips left to kiss the bride by the time you actually get married."

Roger snorted.

"Come on, Marky, you're just jealous."

"What do I have to be jealous of?" Mark scoffed, leaning across the table to kiss Aimee.

Roger made a face.

"Eew, gross," he whined in a fake little kid voice. He turned to Mimi. "Can't we skip the kissing scenes?"

She laughed, then kissed him yet again, wrapping one leg up around his waist.

"God," Roger moaned, pushing her away and reddening considerably.

"Children, please," Mark scolded, "Behave yourselves. This movie is strictly PG."

"Hey, Roger," Aimee called, grinning impishly. "I like **this **design for you new nursery." She held up a wrinkled copy of Play Boy.

"Roger!" Mimi glared at him for a moment, then lost it and burst into a fit of hysterical giggles.

Roger snatched the magazine out of Aimee's hands, quickly shoving it behind his back.

"It's for—you know, when we give the baby the sex talk!"

Everyone dissolved into laughter.

~~~**~~~

6:47 PM

The rain had started around three as a slight drizzle and had quickly progressed to a full blown thunderstorm, complete with blowing sheets of rain and ominous black clouds that flashed with thunder and lightning.

Roger had insisted that they drive to Scarsdale anyway, despite Mimi's protests. The conversation so far had been awkward and strained, and a light pattering of hail on the windshield and the swish of the wheels on the wet road was the only noise that filled the car after a while. 

"Mimi?" Roger asked finally.

"What?"

"Do you. . .have any regrets?"

"About what?"

Roger shrugged, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to look at her. 

"Us. This baby."

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then sighed.

"Sure. But I have more hopes than regrets. So I guess I just have to believe that I'm doing the right thing." She paused for a moment, looking out the window. "I guess I never realized how much I wanted to have children until now. It was never really an option for me. But now—I don't know, maybe it's just the mothering instinct or something."

Roger nodded, and Mimi continued to stare out the window.

"Why do you ask?" she asked finally, "Do you?"

"Well. . ." he trailed off.

Mimi turned on him, suddenly angry.

"You do, don't you. You wouldn't ask otherwise. My God, Roger. . ." she laughed bitterly. "I'm so stupid. I should've known."

"Known what?" Roger snapped, his temper flaring.

"That I couldn't trust you. Couldn't believe in you." She was crying now, more scared than angry. "You always run away."

Roger turned back to look at her, to prove her wrong, his body jumping ahead of his mind, reflexes completely in control. He never saw the other car coming.

There was a loud crack and a shock wave ran through the car, sending it spinning into a ditch off the side of the road. In the back of his mind, Roger heard Mimi scream beside him, then his entire body exploded with pain. 

He turned to look at her a second later, his heart freezing at the sight of blood. There was blood everywhere. On the seats and the floor and spreading quickly. He couldn't even tell if it was his or hers.

"Mimi. . ." Roger asked shakily. "What. . .you okay?"

She looked back at him, tears of pain streaming down her face.

"No. . .Roger. . .oh, God, it hurts. . ."

~~~**~~~

Review please!


	22. No Release

Author's Note: Wow, I've been heading for this chapter since I first started writing this story as unbelievable as that sounds. It's somewhat of a turning point, although it's early on in the plot still. Just to give you a bit of a warning, I think time is going to speed up for a while now. This story (as the title suggests) is actually a year long, meaning it'll end at when it gets back to Christmas. So yeah. . .it's a little less than halfway done now I think. Oh and MAJOR ANGST WARNING!!! Grab your tissues for this chapter. Enjoy.

~~~**~~~

Chapter 22: No Release

April 14th

12:52 AM

"Where is she?" Roger demanded, glaring at Mark who was sitting in one of the waiting room chairs. 

They'd finally made it to the hospital in Scarsdale after the driver of the other car had called an ambulance from her cell phone. Mark had gotten Maureen to drive him and Collins up as soon as he'd heard.

"In surgery," Mark answered, standing up.

"What?"

"Slow down a minute," Mark held up his hands. He looked pale and harried and Roger knew instinctively that the news wasn't good. "What did the doctors say about you?" Mark asked.

"That I have a concussion and a whole lot of bruises. What about Mimi?"

"But they're letting you go?"

"Mark!" Roger shouted, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.

"Roger! Roger, stop!"

Mark pushed him off.

"Roger, I want you to sit down."

Roger obeyed, still breathing hard and glaring at Mark.

Mark turned away from him for a moment, taking off his glasses and scrubbing his hands over his face and hair. Finally, he took a deep breath and turned back.

"Roger. . .she lost the baby."

"No." Roger moaned, covering his face with his hands, "No!"

"Roger, I know you're upset but—"

"No!"

Roger was on his feet in an instant, catching Mark in a headlock.

"Roger, stop. . ." Mark gasped, completely caught off guard.

"You're a liar!" Roger shouted, "You always lie! You're a fucking liar!"

"Roger, please," Mark pleaded, "Listen to me, you're hurt, you're upset and you don't know what you're doing. Please just try to calm down."

Everyone else in the waiting room was frozen, watching until Maureen and Collins entered, coffee cups in hand.

"Roger!" Collins shouted, rushing over and pulling him off Mark.

Roger sank back on the sofa, his head in his hands.

Maureen sat down next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. After a few minutes, Roger looked up again, calmer now.

"Sorry," he muttered, embarrassed.

Mark nodded silently.

"Is she okay?"

"She lost a lot of blood," Mark answered uncertainly, "They said she'll be okay physically but. . .well. . ."

"Yeah. . .when can I see her?"

"They said in a few hours."

"Does she know that-that-" Roger choked on the words, unable to say it.

"Yeah." Maureen answered softly.

Roger sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes roughly with the back of his hand.

"Hey, Rog," Collins said gently, "Come take a walk with me."

Roger obeyed silently, and the two men walked off down the clean white corridor, leaving Mark and Maureen alone.

"So. . .Roger. . ." Collins began after a while, "Talk."

"About what?"

"How do you feel?"

"Awful."

"More detailed, please."

"Collins, what the hell is this, an interrogation?"

Collins shrugged.

"Call it what you like, I'm only trying to help you."

Roger shook his head helplessly and they continued walking.

He couldn't even decide how he felt, let alone tell Collins and listen to the professor's analysis. His head was spinning, images flashing up like movies being played on a secret screen behind his eyes. No matter what he tried to think about, to distract himself with, he kept coming back to that moment. The moment just before. . .

"Roger?"

"I. . .It was my fault."

"Roger. . ." Collins turned to look at him, his eyes full of compassion, "I know you must feel that way right now but-"

"No!" Roger interrupted, "It's true."

Collins raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"I insisted that we go even though it was raining. She told me it wasn't safe but I-I wanted to go anyway. And then we got in a fight and I-I was distracted and. . ."

"What did you fight about?"

"She said. . .that I lied. That I don't-didn't-want to have this baby and I-oh, God, Collins, I **didn't.**" Roger turned and rested his forearms and head against the wall.

"And how do you feel about that now?" Collins asked gently. 

"And how do you feel about that now?" Collins asked gently.

"Who are you, my shrink?" Roger asked angrily.

"Only a friend."

"I think. . ." Roger took a deep breath, forcing the words out. When Mark told me—I—a part of me was **glad **. . .Collins, I deserve to die. . ."

Collins just looked at Roger, tears of compassion in his own dark eyes.

"Roger, you can't help what you feel."

~~~**~~~

Roger paused in the doorway of Mimi's hospital room, studying her worriedly. He couldn't tell if she was really asleep or just resting, but her eyes were closed. Her skin was a pale, almost grayish color in the dim glow of the hospital night light. There were dark circles under her eyes and Roger thought he could see dried tear stains on her cheeks. It made his heart ache unbearably to see her like this and he noticed for the first time how much his head hurt too. 

He walked in as quietly as possible, careful not to wake her, but her eyes fluttered open as soon as he set foot in the door.

Not asleep then, Roger thought to himself.

"Hey," he greeted softly.

She didn't answer, but Roger knew she'd heard. He walked over and sat in the old folding chair next to her bed, and Mimi propped herself up on one elbow, wincing slightly.

"Hi," she answered finally, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Roger sighed and shook his head.

"I'm sorry. . .I. . .don't know what to say."

She nodded weakly.

"You okay, Roger?"

"Yeah. . .just bruises, mostly. God, I'm so sorry. I know this is my fault."

Mimi just shook her head.

"Roger, I don't-I **can't** talk about this. Not right now."

"I'm sorry," Roger said again, feeling completely helpless.

"Just-just hold me, okay?"

Roger nodded, then carefully crawled into bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her protectively. He was acutely aware of how fragile her slender body felt. Mimi buried her face in his shoulder, crying softly. Roger just lay there, stroking her hair gently. His entire body ached with guilt and anguish, but no matter how hard he tried, the tears wouldn't come.

~~~**~~~

It gets worse after this. . .oohhhh yes, my friends it gets WORSE! So review! ^_^


	23. Breakdown

Author's Note: Just wanted to let you all know that there won't be an update tomorrow. I'm taking the day off from actually writing to scope out the plot of the next few chapters since it's going to be so crucial to the story. So yeah. . .anyway. . .thanks for all the reviews and look for another update of Friday.

Oh yeah! If you want to read some other great rentfics, so read/review **Before You Wake and **November **by **em0xstatic **because they're awesome stories!!**

~~~**~~~

Chapter 23: Breakdown

April 20th

11:47 AM

The Loft

"I like your mother," Mimi commented as Roger helped her up the stairs to the loft.

Mrs. Davis had agreed to drive them back from the hospital after Roger had spent the past six days with her, waiting for Mimi to be released. The ride back had been pure torture for Roger. They'd both been tense, nervous in the car and overly cautious of one another, pretending that nothing was out of the ordinary.

"Yeah," Roger answered distantly, "I guess I ought to call her more often."

He pulled the heavy door open and held it open for Mimi, then went in after her.

"Mark?" he called.

"Hey guys," Mark greeted warmly, hugging them both.

Roger noticed that someone had cleaned the loft while they'd been gone, clearing out the magazines and other baby paraphernalia that had accumulated.

"How're you feeling?" Mark asked, turning to Mimi.

She shrugged.

"Tired. I think I'm gonna go lie down for a while."

Roger nodded.

"You want me to come with you?"

"No."

Roger gave her a concerned look.

"I just want a little time to myself."

She retreated into the bedroom. Roger moved to follow her but Mark stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Let her go."

"Leave me alone!" Roger snapped, turning on Mark. He turned and walked across the room, grabbing his guitar off the table and sitting down with it. He plucked out random, angry chords for a few moments, trying to pick out a new melody.

"I wish she would at least talk to me," he said finally, looking up at Mark.

"Roger. . .give her time. Give yourself time. You've both just been through an incredible trauma—you can't expect everything to go back to normal immediately. Oh, and whatever you do, don't tell her what you told Collins."

"He told you?" Roger asked, surprised.

Mark shook his head.

"Aimee did."

"Then Collins told her?"

"Yeah, I guess so. He's worried about you, Rog. We all are."

"Oh, cut the crap," Roger snapped. "Worry about Mimi. I'm fine."

He grabbed his guitar case and headed for the door.

"Where're you going?" Mark demanded.

"I don't know. Out."

"Right. Go shoot up. Do whatever you need to do as long as you don't have to admit that other people have emotions."

"Back off, Mark, I just need some space," Roger snapped back, knowing in his heart that Mark was exactly right.

"Right. Space to go back to destroying yourself. Like you did before. Like you always will. Run away, Roger, it's what you do best."

"Fuck off!" Roger shouted, half-throwing his guitar case down and taking a swing at Mark. He struck a glancing blow off Mark's jaw, then instantly jumped back, staring at his fist as if it had just bitten him. "God, Mark, I'm sorry. . ."

Mark just stared at him in shock.

"Roger, what the hell is wrong with you?" Mark asked, rubbing his jaw.

"I'm. . .I'm—I don't know I—just can't do this—I can't—" Roger started to cry, covering his face with his hands.

Mark cautiously put a hand on his arm and Roger buried his face in Mark's shoulder, sobbing violently.

"Roger. . ." Mark trailed off, completely at a loss for words. "I. . .I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. It's just. . .it's hard for me too."

"Yeah I know," Roger muttered gruffly, pulling away. "Sorry."

"It's okay." 

Mark looked around the loft awkwardly for a few moments, his eyes searching for an excuse to leave. Finally he grabbed his camera and headed for the door. 

"I'm gonna go film now. Will you be okay if I'm gone for a while?"

"Yeah."

Mark nodded, then quickly turned and left. Roger curled up on the old green sofa, grabbing one of the moth eaten pillows and hugging it tightly to his chest. He started to cry again, his body weak with grief and guilt. He and Mimi had been through plenty of hard times in the past, but in the past they'd always been there for each other. This time, Roger felt like he was completely and utterly alone.

~~~**~~~

12:03 PM

Collins' Apartment

Mark rapped loudly on the door, praying that someone would answer. After only a few seconds, he heard the scratching of the handle being turned and Aimee poked her head out.

"Mark?" She raised an eyebrow questioningly. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Is Collins here?"

"No, he has a class. . .Why? Mark, what happened?"

"Good." Mark said shortly, walking into the apartment and wrapping his arms around her and kissing her deeply. 

"Mark. . ." 

She pulled away from him enough so that she could see his face, eyeing him with concern.

"God, Aimee, I can't do this anymore," Mark sighed, pulling away from her and going to sit on the couch.

"What?" she asked gently, sitting down beside him and resting her head on his shoulder. "Can't do what?"

"Deal with Roger and Mimi. . .with. . .everything. . .I'm so sick of being the sane one."

"I know." She kissed him lightly, "I know it's hard, but they need you."

"Well what happens when **I** need someone?" Mark asked, his voice harsh with tears, "Who's there for me when I fall apart? They act like I don't even care! Like I'm just there for them. I'm the tissue for them to wipe their snotty little noses on whenever they need a good cry. But if I need one of them, oh no, they're all too busy or else nowhere to be found."

Aimee wrapped her arms around him and Mark kissed her again, wishing he could lose himself forever in her love and never have to come back to the real world and face the tragedy he was being forced to live with. 

"Forget all of that. It doesn't matter right now. All that matters is that you're here. And I'm here for you. As long as you need me."

~~~**~~~

Review please!


	24. Broken

~~~**~~~

Chapter 24: Broken

May 2nd

5:23 PM

The Loft

"Mimi?" Roger called, knocking softly on her door. He didn't want to wake her if she was asleep, but she'd been locked in their room almost continuously for the past week and a half. Roger had been sleeping on the couch, or on the floor in Mark's room, trying to respect her need for space. But when she'd asked Mark to accompany her to the hospital for a follow-up visit and come back without so much as acknowledging Roger's presence, he'd decided it was time to confront her.

Roger knocked again, then tried the door handle. It was unlocked, and he opened the door and stepped in, telling himself that he had every right to be there too. He found Mimi curled up on the bed, frantically scribbling something on scraps of paper.

"You're awake," Roger stated gently.

She jumped slightly, wrote a few more words, then turned to look at him.

"Yeah."

"You didn't answer when I knocked. I thought you might be asleep."

Mimi shrugged and shook her head.

"What are you working on?" Roger tried again, desperate to hear her say more than a few words at a time.

"Just. . .stuff."

"Okay. . ." Roger sighed. "What did the doctor say?"

"That I'm not healing as fast as I should be and that I should start taking antibiotics to prevent infection."

She turned away from him and started writing again.

"Are you still in pain?" Roger asked.

"Some. I don't notice much."

Roger sat down on the edge of the bed beside her, laying a hand on her shoulder. She flinched slightly and Roger pulled back.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know. . .I just—want to be happy again and I can't. Isn't that awful? I'm just so sick of all of this. It's like. . .I don't want to do anything anymore, but I can't stand to do nothing. Everything I try just makes me feel worse."

"You could at least talk to me," Roger said, more harshly than he'd meant to. He knew instantly that she'd taken it the wrong way and wished he could take it back as soon as he saw the look of anger that settled over her face.

"Back off."

"Mimi, you know it was my child too! It's hardly like you're the only one who has a right to be upset."

"Your child that you didn't want!" 

Her voice was low and precise, filled with hate.

"I **never** said that!" Roger shot back, knowing it was a lie.

"No, you never did. But you made it obvious enough. The least you could do is just leave me alone right now. But even that seems impossible for you."

"Mimi, I've tried to give you your space, but don't you think you're overreacting here?"

She sat up at that, looking him straight in the eye. Roger met her gaze for a few seconds, then gave in and looked away.

"You bastard," she whispered, "If it weren't for your carelessness, this never would've happened."

"And if it weren't for **your** carelessness, you never would've gotten pregnant and it **never** would've even been a question!" Roger shouted. 

"Oh and it's all about you once again!" she yelled back. "You know what, Roger? It's over! I've had it with you and your fucking lack of responsibility!"

She started to cry. Roger just sat there for a moment in shock, then the anger returned.

"Fine. Leave." Roger pointed to the door. "Out!"

He began pulling her things out of drawers and throwing them on the floor. Finally, he stopped and turned to look at her.

"I'd rather have a girlfriend who didn't betray me every time I turned my back. Was the baby even mine?"

Mimi just stared at him, her mouth open in shock.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Roger muttered, then turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him. He stormed back out into the living room and ran straight into Mark.

"Whoa," Mark gasped, rubbing the shoulder that Roger had just collided with. "What just happened there?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing," Mark mimicked sarcastically.

Roger glared at him, then walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer, popping the top off and taking a long swig.

"Where did that come from?" Mark asked, shooting Roger an accusing look.

"I bought them. This morning. While you were out taking my girlfriend, oh, excuse me, fiancée, to the hospital."

"Roger, I only did what she asked me to."

"Right. Exactly. She ask you. Not me. I ask you, what is wrong with this picture?"

"She knows how much you hate hospitals, Rog. And besides, you're not exactly able to be calm about this. I really think you should be a little more sensitive to Mimi."

Roger snorted.

"Right. **I'm** the one at fault here," Roger shot back sarcastically.

"I heard everything," Mark admitted suddenly.

"What?" Roger asked, his anger fading. "You were listening?"

"What?" Roger asked, his anger fading. "You were listening?"

"No, but when you're both screaming it's kind of hard not to."

Roger sighed.

"Mark. . .what am I going to do? I just want this all to be over."

"But it isn't. And you can't change that." Mark took the half-empty beer can out of Roger's hand. "Go talk to her. You might still be able to fix things."

"She won't talk to me!" Roger protested. "Except to blame me!"

"Roger, you said yourself it was you fault. And it doesn't matter if she talks to you. You can still apologize whether or not she says a word."

Roger just stood there. Mark shook his head and walked toward the bedroom. "If you won't talk her, I will."

Mark knocked on the door. There was no answer, but he could hear Mimi sobbing loudly in the bedroom.

"Mimi?" he called.

When there was still no reply, Mark knocked again, louder. He jostled the door handle.

Locked.

"Mimi, answer me if you're okay and I'll leave you alone. I just want to make sure you're all right."

Mark waited again, his heart suddenly fluttering with fear. A few seconds later, there had still been no answer and Mark decided he had to take action. He slammed his shoulder against the door as hard as he could, breaking the lock. The door swung open and Mark entered cautiously.

Mimi was sitting on the other side of the bed, hugging her knees to her chest and shivering violently. Mark knelt down beside her.

"Mimi, what's wrong?"

She looked up at him, her eyes full of tears.

It was then that Mark saw the spot of blood on the inside of her arm and the used needle on the floor.

"Mark. . .I'm scared," she whispered, a few tears slipping down her cheeks.

"What. . .how much did you take?" Mark asked, trying not to panic. "And where did you get it?"

"Last night. . .while you were asleep I. . .too much. . .I was so sure. . .Mark, I don't want to die. I didn't really think I'd do it. Please. . ."

Mark was on his feet in an instant, his heart racing.

"Roger! Call an ambulance! Now!"

~~~**~~~

REVIEW! 


	25. Coming Home

Author's Note: Updates are most likely going to slow down a little bit (yeah, I know I always say that. . .note that this time I said "most likely") because I'm coming into the hardest chapters of the story and I want to make sure I do them right. The last chapter was kind of a turning point in the story, although it was just a little more than halfway in the length. I guess you could view my story like a doughnut. Right now, you've just fallen in the one side of the hole in the middle. So that means that once you get across it, you get back to the sweet part. Ok, wow that was weird. . .I think I'll shut up now. . .

~~~**~~~

Chapter 25: Coming Home

May 15th

2:11 PM

The Loft

"I can't believe she'd do that!"

Roger slammed the refrigerator door so hard the whole thing rocked forward and nearly fell over, then popped the top off yet another beer and took a large swig, spilling it all down the front of his shirt. 

"Shit!"

"Roger. . ." Mark called from his seat at the table, "We've been through this about a hundred times already. And quite honestly, I don't blame her."

"Asshole," Roger muttered, dabbing at his shirt with a paper towel. "I thought she'd at least **tell** me!"

"Roger. . ." Mark sighed, "I'm not even sure whether they would have let her contact you. I mean, she did pretty much tell them it was your fault."

"Yeah well she kind of had to. 'Oh, no, Mr. Doctor, I didn't **really** want to kill myself, I just did it because my boyfriend was being a bastard. Please oh please let me go.'" Roger mimicked bitterly.

After nearly two weeks of treatment and psychological testing, Mimi had arranged for her parents to pick her up from the hospital and take her to stay with them in Buffalo. She'd called Mark the night before, asking him to send her things to the house and not to let Roger know until she'd already left the hospital. Naturally, Roger was furious when he found out.

"And going to stay with her fucking parents? I mean, come on. She's told me at least a hundred times how much she hates them!"

Roger took another swig of his beer and went to sit on the couch, his gait a little unsteady. He'd already had several beers and hadn't eaten anything since the night before, and the alcohol in his blood stream plus the emotion was beginning to take a toll on him.

"Do you hate your parents as much as you say you do?" Mark asked calmly. He was beginning to feel like the designated human punching bag since Mimi had left. 

"No. . .but. . . .that's different!" Roger said, looking slightly confused.

"Roger, I really think you should go lie down. You've hardly slept at all since the accident."

"No shit," Roger muttered. "You wanna know why I don't fucking sleep anymore?"

Roger looked expectantly at Mark.

"Umm . . .yeah, sure," Mark answered, wishing he hadn't brought it up. All Roger wanted to do lately was fight, and anything Mark said seemed to be fair game for an argument.

"I don't sleep anymore because every time I close my eyes I see it. I see the look on her face just before. . .just before. . ." 

Roger reached into his pocked and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He got up and handed it to Mark, his hand shaking slightly.

"What is this?" Mark asked, his voice edged with fear.

"I found it under the bed this morning. It's what she was writing the day that she. . .that day."

Mark read over the crumpled, tear stained paper, and a strange look came over his face. He looked up at Roger.

"She was. . .writing a letter. . .to the baby. . ." Mark said, his voice weak with astonishment.

"Yeah," Roger answered grimly, "the baby that I killed."

~~~**~~~

"Mimi, honey, welcome home."

Mimi took a deep breath and tried not to cry, wondering why the sound of her mother's voice suddenly made her want to break down. She'd spent so long running away from her parents and her past that she hadn't realized she'd actually **missed** them. They'd only been in minimal phone contact since—well, since she'd run away six years ago, and while they knew pretty much everything that was important in her life since then, Mimi realized that she knew very little about them.

Her mother's once long curly hair was now cut into a short bob, and carefully straightened and streaked with highlights. Her father looked as though he'd aged about twenty years, and Mimi realized she wouldn't have recognized him. His hair was thin and graying, and there were deep creases across his brow and under his eyes. 

Even the house looked different. It was small and gray, with a very small, rectangular backyard surrounded by a chain link fence. There was a rather wild patch on the side of the house that had once been a garden but now bore more resemblance to a jungle. Viny bean plants snaked their way around the slender stems of pea plants and smothered tomatoes. Mutant weeds grew three times their natural size. The paint on the front of the house was starting to peel slightly, and the once light shingles were now a dark, dusty shade of grayish brown. 

Mimi climbed out of the car, carrying the small overnight bag Mark had brought her at the hospital the week before, and followed her mother into the house. It was dark inside, and the house smelled of lemon cleaner and air conditioning that hasn't been used for a long time. Strange, Mimi thought, how you never notice that your own house has a smell until you've been away from it.

Her mother led her into the room that had once been hers. Mimi carefully averted her eyes and they walked passed the doorway of the room just before hers, keeping them straight ahead down the hallway. The house, although modest, seemed strangely luxurious after years of living in the loft. 

"Here."

Mimi's mother pushed the door to her old room open. It was mostly empty, but the bed was made up. Mimi felt a slight pang at the fact that her parents had removed all traces of her childhood. Then again, she didn't blame them after what had happened. Mimi dropped her bag in the empty closet, kicked her shoes off and climbed up onto the bed, sitting cross-legged. 

"If you need anything, you know where to find me," her mother said gently.

"Yeah. . ." Mimi said distantly, looking out the window.

"Will you be okay if I leave you alone now?"

"Yes. I just want to sleep." Mimi watched her mother leave, then crawled under the covers and curled up. 

"Forget regret," she muttered to herself, then laughed bitterly. "Right.

~~~**~~~

Review please!


	26. Nachos and Storms at Night

Author's Note: Yes, I realize you have no clue what Mimi and her mother are talking about. ::laughs evilly:: I will say this before you have a chance to comment or even *think* that you somehow do know. You don't. But you will in the next chapter. So just enjoy trying to figure it out from the hints I've given you. ^_^

~~~**~~~

Chapter 26: Nachos and Storms at Night

May 17th

5:22 PM

The Loft

"Roger!" Mark called at the top of his lungs, "Dinner!"

There was no answer save for the sound of the door being locked as hard as possible. Mark sighed and turned back to Collins and Aimee, who were standing in the living room, arms laden with takeout containers. 

"He's been like that since Mimi left," he said glumly.

Collins nodded understandingly.

"I guess it's natural he'd take it hard. Especially after April." Collins handed the take out container to Mark. Mark opened it just a crack, inhaling the pungent scent of Mexican food.

"I know. . ." Mark muttered, "It's just. . .he acts like it's her fault somehow, like she did this just to hurt him."

"That's Roger for you. I don't think he knows how to see it any other way."

Mark grabbed three plates and they sat down at the table.

"So what did you bring me?" he asked Aimee, grabbing one of the take out containers out of her hands.

"Nachos," she answered, grinning. "I remember you said you liked them a while back."

_A while back,_ Mark mused, savoring the sound of the words in his mind, _A while back as in a while since they'd met._ He liked the sound of that. 

The nachos were warm and drenched in thick, stringy cheese. Everyone was silent for a few minutes, enjoying the meal. Suddenly, they heard the scraping of the latch on Roger's door and he poked his head out, watching them intently. Finally, Mark turned and faced him.

"Looking for food?" Mark asked hopefully.

But Roger just shook his head and turned his back on them.

"No. I just thought you'd all died for a minute there."

With that he went back inside the room and closed the door.

"What the hell was that about?" Mark asked, looking at Collins.

The professor shrugged.

"Don't ask me."

"I think he's drunk," Aimee said softly.

"What?" Mark asked in surprise.

"Didn't you see the way he was leaning against the door frame?"

"Yeah," Mark said reluctantly, "I guess I just didn't want to. At this rate he's gonna become an alcoholic before he even has a chance to talk to Mimi again."

Aimee looked at him sharply.

"Make sure he doesn't."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?" Mark asked angrily.

Collins stood up as though sensing that they needed to be left alone.

"I'm gonna run now, guys. I have an early class tomorrow."

Collins turned and left as they called their goodbyes after him. The second he was gone, Mark and Aimee turned back to one another.

"Easy. Make sure there's no alcohol available to him." Aimee shot back, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"He's a fucking twenty five years old! What am I supposed to do, put him on a leash?"

"If that's what it takes! What did you do when he was going through withdrawal?!"

"That was different!"

"How?!"

"He was delirious half the time and the rest of it too weak to even get up off the floor on his own!"

"And if you're not careful, he'll get like that again. God, Mark, do you care about anyone other than yourself?"

Mark just stared at her for a moment in hurt silence, then began clearing away the dishes as quickly as possible.

"Thanks for dinner," he muttered, "Don't you have somewhere to be now?"

"Mark. . ." Aimee said softly, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. "I'm sorry. I just. . ."

Mark turned around and took her hands gently.

"I know. You're right though, I probably should do something about it. . .I just don't know how much more of this I can deal with. He hates the world already."

Aimee kissed him gently.

"You're a good friend, Mark. Roger's lucky to have you."

~~~**~~~~

11:47 PM

Buffalo

Mimi crept out of the bedroom and into the darkened living room, sitting gingerly on the couch. For a moment she was surprised when it didn't creak, then mentally shook herself, forcing herself to remember that most people in fact did **not **have the pleasure of listening to their furniture complain every time they sat down.

Lightening flashed bluish behind the drawn curtains and rolling thunder punctuated the flash just seconds later. She'd always loved storms at night. Somehow they had a way of making a bed feel softer and the covers more cozy. She pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, feeling strangely as if she'd gone back in time during the course of the accident and was now a little girl again.

"Sneaking out of bed again?"

Mimi jumped slightly at the sound of her mother's voice.

"I couldn't sleep," she said softly, "I never can anymore. I'm so sick of the nightmares."

"I know, honey, I know. They're awful, aren't they?"

Mimi nodded slowly, surprised that her mother was admitting to it.

"It's not like I didn't have them after. . .before," Mimi said softly, "I guess I just. . .had other ways of coping then."

Her mother nodded in silent understanding, then went over to sit beside Mimi on the sofa, putting an arm around her daughter's shoulders. Mimi shrugged her off, then instantly felt a pang of regret as she remembered how hard she'd worked as a child to earn so much as a sideways glance from either parent.

"Mimi. . .I don't know how to tell you this, but don't let this ruin your life."

Mimi snorted.

"A little late for that. It already has."

"Only if you let it."

"This from the queen of coping with family disasters," Mimi snapped, suddenly angry.

Her mother sighed.

"Look, I know I'm not in a very good position to be giving advice, I just want what's best for you."

"Of course you do," Mimi said sarcastically, "You're my mother. When you're not too busy taking care of yourself."

There was a long guilty pause, then Mimi steeled herself and took a deep breath.

"Why didn't you come after me after Aaron. . ." Mimi trailed off, her voice cracking painfully, "After the first accident?"

"That's something I don't think I'll ever be able to answer. I don't think I've ever stopped regretting it but. . .you father and I couldn't cope. We couldn't cope so we let you go. . .and by the time we'd gotten strong enough to bring you back it was too late. You were an adult and you had a life of your own whether we approved of it or not. I guess I ought to apologize."

Mimi shook her head.

"No. Don't. What happened happened. There's already too much guilt between us."

Her mother leaned in and hugged her and Mimi hugged back for a few seconds, then pulled away.

"I think I'm gonna try to go back to bed now."

"Okay."

Mimi turned and started to go, then paused and turned back.

"One more question."

"Shoot."

"Does Dad still blame me?"

"Why would you think that?"

Mimi shrugged.

"I don't know. . .It just feels like he's avoiding me."

"Your father hasn't been feeling well lately. They're not sure what's wrong but he's in the process of a series of tests."

"Is he okay?" Mimi asked, suddenly concerned.

"I'm sure he'll be just fine."

Mimi turned and went back into her bedroom, letting it go even though she could tell by the fake smile and forced cheerfulness in her mother's voice that it was a lie.

~~~**~~~

Review! Or else. . .bad things will happen to Roger and Mimi! Worse things than already have. . .like. . .um. . .I dunno. . .but BAD THINGS!


	27. Deja Vu

Author's Note: Wow this chapter is strange. . .just to try and avoid any confusion. . .the italics are flashbacks. Anyway, enjoy.

~~~**~~~

Chapter 27: Déjà vu

May 24th

9:17 PM

Buffalo

"Oh, quit moping around, Rico. You're forty four years old and it's not like it was a surprise!"

"Easy enough for you to say! You're not the one who's dying!"

"Oh, and you think this is going to be **easy **for me? To watch my husband die?"

"Damn it, Elisa, you never could deal with anyone else's problems! If it's anything other than **you** and **your** sad little existence then it's too much for you to handle!"

Mimi sat up in bed, suddenly wide awake. The light was still on and she was lying on the bed fully dressed, with pieces of paper scattered around her. She looked at the clock, disoriented, wondering when she'd fallen asleep. At first she'd thought the voices were in her dream, but now she recognized them as the familiar sound of her parents fighting. She'd heard them often enough as a child.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and walked over to the other side of the room. Mimi switched off the light and pressed her ear to the door. The voices had grown softer for a while, but now the volume was building again.

"I told you we should've planned for this. Where the hell do you think the money is going to come from?"

"I don't know! I-I thought I was safe."

"Why would you think that?! It's been in your family for generations!"

"You know what? I can't deal with this right now! I don't feel well enough to argue with you and you're apparently incapable of discussing this rationally!"

Mimi heard the sound of her father's heavy footsteps on the wood floor and then the muffled bang of a door slamming. She stood for a few seconds, leaning against the door of her bedroom, her mind racing. Finally, she opened the door and looked out into the soft light of the living room. Her mother was sitting on the couch, her head in her hands. Mimi couldn't tell if she was crying.

"What happened?" Mimi asked softly, going over to her.

"We. . .got your father's test results from the hospital today."

Elisa looked up at her daughter, her eyes full of tears. Mimi felt her knees go weak with dread.

"And. . ."

"Huntington's disease."

Mimi sat down weakly, memories of her grandfather's last few years in her mind. How he'd struggled just to get out of bed in the morning as the disease ravaged his brain. How her parents had tried to hide it from her because they'd thought she was too young. Now she realized she'd be forced to face the same thing with her father.

"I can't," Mimi heard herself say.

"What?"

"I can't do this!" Mimi was on her feet before she even realized she'd spoken, her body driven by the force of her emotion. "I can't take anymore. It's too much!" She started to cry.

Elisa tried to hug her, but Mimi brushed her off roughly.

"I know," Elisa said sadly, "But you should at least try to talk to him about it. It would mean so much to him . . .After all, you are his only child now."

"His only child," Mimi repeated, her voice smoldering with fury. "Is that why you care all of a sudden?"

"Mimi, you know that's not what I meant—"

"You never would've treated me like this before! I've been invisible for **years**. But now he's dying so you **have** to pretend to care so you can continue telling yourself you're a good mother!"

"Mimi, please—"

"You'll never let me forget!" she shouted, surprised at the force of her own anger. "I'm your only fucking child now and you never cared before but now you need me, so you have to pretend you care! I'm nothing to you. I'm an illusion. And I'll never be anything else!"

Mimi turned and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her and locking it. The outburst had left her shaking and filled with a sadness so intense she felt hollow inside. She turned the sink on cold and splashed water on her face, wincing. She was shocked at her reflection. She hadn't realized she looked that bad. Then something else caught her eye.

Perched on the ledge between the counter top and the mirror was a prescription pill bottle.

Mimi picked it up, examining the label:

_Marquez, Elisa. _Sleeping pills.

She turned the bottle over and over in her hand, tempted. She knew she wouldn't sleep on her own.

Mimi snapped the lid off the bottle and took one of the tiny white pills, promising herself it would only be once.

The pill worked quickly and she drifted off to sleep almost immediately.

_Images swam before Mimi's eyes, fragments of memories lost in the sea of time._

_"A C. Another C. After everything I told you. What did I say would happen if you didn't bring these grades up, young lady?"_

_Thirteen year old Mimi cowered before her mother's scrutinizing gaze and the incriminating report card in her hand._

_"You said I wouldn't be allowed to go to the Homecoming dance," she answered reluctantly._

_"Right."_

_"But it's my first year!"_

_"I don't care."_

_"And the class is impossible! It's not my fault Dad made them put me in honors! He knew I couldn't do it!"_

_"I don't want to hear it. You're not going to that dance. Or anywhere else for tat matter until these grades come up."_

_"I hate you," Mimi spat, and stalked off to her room._

_"And you too," she shot at the smiling form of Aaron, her perfect younger brother. If it weren't for him, her parents would be happy with average grades._

_The memory shifted, flashing forward several years._

_Mimi found herself facing her father's anger this time._

_"Look, you don't have a choice here," he said sternly, "Your mother can't drive in her condition and Aaron needs to get to the game."_

_Mimi glared at him._

_"Why can't you take him? You're a better driver than me anyway, as you're always reminding me."_

_"I have to stay here with your mother incase she needs anything. And I have work to do."_

_"Oh, for God's sake! She just has a cold! Get over it already."_

_"She has Pneumonia. And I won't be spoken to like that. You take Aaron to that game now or you don't drive that car for a month."_

_Mimi snatched the car keys angrily out of his hand, grabbed her purse and headed for the door._

_"Come on All Star, get in the car, you're wasting my time!" she called in the direction of Aaron's room._

_He came sauntering out about five minutes later, dressed in his baseball uniform._

_Mimi stood with her arms crossed, tapping her foot and glaring at him impatiently._

_"Come **on**, I'm missing a date for you."_

_Traffic was light, but it was still a long way to the game. And it was raining. Hard.  Mimi pressed her foot down a little harder on the gas pedal, pushing the speed limit._

_"Slow down," Aaron scolded her from the passenger seat. _

_Mimi glared at him._

_"Mr. Perfect. We're not gonna spontaneously combust. Look around, there's nobody out here anyway."_

_"Why can't you ever just follow the rules?"_

_"Because the rules suck, dumbass. Besides, nobody follows them **all**. Just nerds like you."_

_"I'm not a nerd."_

_Mimi snorted._

_"Whatever."_

_"Look, I mean it! You're so irresponsible. And then you're surprised when you get in trouble."_

_"Will you just **shut up**?"_

_"Not until you listen to me!"_

_"You know what? Fuck you."_

_"Bitch." Aaron muttered._

_"I'm not taking any more of this!" Mimi shouted, slapping him hard across the cheek. _

_The next thing she knew, everything was spinning out of control, accompanied by the eerie sound of Aaron screaming._

Blackness, then more memories, fragments this time.

_Aaron's funeral. The crying, the fighting. The blame. The night she'd run away after her father had called her the biggest disappointment of his life. She'd left and hitchhiked her way to the city with nothing more than a backpack._

_The first sights of the city. Rain. Always the rain. Grayness, the overwhelming assortment of smells. Car fumes and too much cologne, human sweat and the sickly sweet stench of garbage decaying in the heat of the afternoon sun._

_The park. And a strange man, smiling at her._

_He waved, and Mimi approached him cautiously, not knowing what else to do._

_"You look depressed, baby," the Man purred in a too-sweet voice. "I think I have just the thing to make you forget all your troubles."_

_~~~**~~~_

'Tis strange, I know. Review or I shall keep Mimi trapped in the past. . .FOREVER!


	28. Proposal

Author's Note: Okay, just one thing to say. . .::sigh:: I guess lately I've been wondering whether anyone's still reading this story. It's got roughly 17 chapters to go and I guess I want to know if people are going to stick with me. So please leave me reviews and at least tell you've read it. Thanks. 

On that note, thanks to everyone who did review the last chapter. I love you all and I hope you enjoy.

~~~**~~~

Chapter 28: Proposal

June 1st

1:32 PM

The Loft

"Mark!"

Mark groaned and rolled over on his bed. It was only the beginning of June and it was already too damn hot to do anything but sleep in the afternoon.

"Mark!" Roger shouted again.

Mark groaned louder and got up. His head was throbbing and he felt as though the heat was sapping all his energy. At this rate they'd all be comatose by August.

Roger was standing in the kitchen frantically rooting through the cabinets and muttering angrily.

"You called?" Mark said sourly.

Roger looked surprised for a moment, then resumed glaring at him.

"Where the hell did all my beer go?"

Mark sighed. He'd known this was coming.

"I drank it," he answered sarcastically, completely fed up with Roger's foul temper.

"Right," Roger scoffed, "You'd be dead right now. What did you really do with it?"

Mark hesitated.

"I want the truth!" Roger shouted.

"I threw it away."

"Why the hell would you do that?" Roger demanded.

"Because you need to stop drinking, Rog," Mark answered calmly. "You're only making things worse."

"Things can't get any worse unless **you** decide to make my life hell along with the rest of the world."

"Roger, admit it, you need help."

"Fuck off," Roger snapped, "I can take care of myself."

"Not when you're trying to hurt yourself you can't. And not when you're drunk of your ass all the time either."

"I'm **not **trying to hurt myself for God's sake! I just want to feel better."

"Then do something that will accomplish that! Go. . .go write a song or something."

"I can't," Roger said softly, the anger in his voice fading to an agonized whisper, "My inspiration's gone. She took it with her when she left. I think . . .I think she was my muse."

"Roger. . ." Mark sighed, at a loss for words. He wasn't prepared for such a complete change in Roger's mood. Anger he could deal with but this depression. . .that was another matter.

"I don't know what to do anymore," Roger muttered, grabbing a banana out of the cow patterned fruit bowl Maureen had given them for Christmas the year of her protest.

"Have you spoken to her at all since you fought?" Mark asked hesitantly.

Roger shook his head, staring blankly at the banana.

"Then just wait and see what happens."

Roger started to speak, but Mark held up his hands for silence.

"I don't think she'd just leave you forever without even speaking to you again."

Roger nodded, still staring at the banana.

"You know. . .these things always made me giggle when I was a kid. Something about the shape. . ."

"Roger. . ." Mark said concernedly, "Are you okay?"

"No," Roger muttered, "but whatever. Not like anyone cares anyway."

Roger turned and wandered back into his bedroom, still holding the banana. Mark watched him for a moment, then walked around the kitchen, trying to figure out what he could do that would be interesting without requiring too much energy.

He picked up his camera and looked around for something to film, but everything in the loft seemed dull, covered in the laziness of the heat wave. 

Finally, he sighed and picked up the phone, dialing Collins' apartment.

Aimee answered on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey." Mark answered, grinning immediately. "Are you alone?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I'm bored."

Mark heard her chuckle softly.

"I have a surprise for you," she said after a moment.

"Oh?" Mark asked, interested.

"Yeah. Meet me in the park in twenty minutes."

"Okay," Mark agreed eagerly.

He hung up the phone and picked up his camera out of habit. He went over and knocked on Roger's door.

"What?" Roger called irritably.

"I'm leaving. Have fun with the banana while I'm gone."

"Get out of here Mark. I'm just rolling around on the floor laughing," Roger answered dryly.

Mark got to the bench in record time despite the heat. The park was nearly empty except for a few people who looked as though they either had nowhere else to be or were completely oblivious to their own insanity. A woman in a purple string bikini was sunbathing on a sheet printed with Sesame Street characters. An old man who looked as though he'd seen better days was walking around mumbling into a large black garbage bag. And of course there was The Man. Always The Man. 

He sat down on the bench and rested his chin in his hands, elbows propped up on his knees.

"You look excited to see me."

Mark jumped.

"Aimee!" 

He got up quickly and gave her a light kiss on the lips. She grinned at him.

"That's more like it."

She sat down beside him on the bench and wrapped an arm around his waist. Mark rested his head on her shoulder.

"I can't take this anymore." He muttered.

"Can't take what?"

"Roger. He's just so. . .he hates the world. I took your advice today and got rid of all the beer. I thought he was going to kill me for a minute there."

"And then?"

"Then he just got really depressed and started talking about Mimi again. I don't know what he's gonna do if she doesn't come back."

"Mark, you did the right thing. You are doing the right thing. And that's all you can do. Roger's just going to have to get through this on his own. You can't take the pain away from him." She looked at Mark for a moment, then laughed at herself. "God, I don't know how I get all philosophical like this. Tell me to shut up. I'm hardly in a position to give anyone advice."

Mark grinned at her.

"You said something about a surprise?"

She grinned back.

"Yeah." Aimee rooted around in her backpack for a moment before pulling out a slightly crumpled piece of paper. "Here."

Mark read over it for a moment, then looked up at her, his eyes shining with curiosity.

"The Alexia Foundation For World Peace," he read softly, looking back at the top of the paper. Then he laughed.

"What?" Aimee asked, confused.

"Nevermind." Mark said, still chuckling, "It just reminded me of someone who I met a couple years ago. So . . .what is this exactly?"

"It's a competition. For a photography grant. You submit a proposal on a project that you think would further world peace. If you get it, you get funding for your project and you get a residency at the University of Syracuse. Tom showed it to me this morning and I thought it might be perfect for one of your documentaries."

Mark smiled at her, his eyes shining with tears.

"Thanks."

He gave her another kiss.

"So you really think I should try this?"

She nodded vigorously.

"Yes. Mark, think about it. This could change your life. It's time you did something for yourself."

Mark looked down at the paper again.

"This only gives me four days," he looked back up at Aimee. "I'd better get to work."

~~~**~~~


	29. It Can't Be Easy

Author's Note: I totally forgot to put this at the beginning of my last chapter, but the Alexia Foundation is a real organization and Marky is competing for a real grant. ^_~ Just thought I'd mention that.

Oh, and thanks to everyone who reviewed. I feel wonderfully loved.

~~~**~~~

Chapter 29: It Can't Be Easy

June 5th

9:52 AM

The Loft

"There's nothing to eat," Roger complained loudly, slamming a cabinet door shut.

Mark jumped. He'd been dozing on the couch after staying up the entire previous night to get his proposal finished. Now, as Roger continued slamming things in the kitchen, Mark realized that he hadn't gone grocery shopping in over a week. 

"Yeah," Mark said groggily, "Guess I'll have to go buy some stuff later."

Roger stared at Mark in disbelief. Mark was the responsible one. If **he **didn't remember to buy groceries, nobody would. 

"In fact," Mark said yawning, "If you're hungry why don't **you** go shopping for once?"

"Umm. . .okay. Mark, what's up with you lately?"

Mark yawned again and rolled over, pulling a pillow over his head. 

"I've been busy," he muttered, "Let me sleep."

"Seriously, Mark. This isn't like you. What's going on?"

Mark sighed and sat up slowly, stretching.

"I was working on a project."

Roger stopped moving for a moment and glared at Mark.

"You're always working on a 'project.' What's so important about this one?"

Mark steeled himself and looked up at Roger, knowing this wasn't going to be easy.

"I um. . .I entered a competition. For a grant."

"What?"

Roger just gaped at him, not comprehending. 

"Um. . .something. . .Collins found. If I get it. . .I get. . .well—money to produce my project and. . .nevermind. It's not important. Hell, I won't even win."

"And what?" Roger asked sharply.

"I said nevermind."

"Why won't you tell me?" Roger shouted.

"Because I know you'll overreact. Like you are now. Like you always do."

"I'm not overreacting! I just don't like it when I know someone's lying to me."

"I'm not lying to you, Rog, I won't even win so it doesn't matter."

"Yes it does!"

"**Why**?"

"Because you're supposed to be my best friend! Which means you don't keep things from me. And I know you, Mark. You don't keep things from me unless you know it's something that I won't like. Tell me."

Mark stood up, suddenly angry.

"You know what, Roger? No. Because it doesn't concern you. I don't even know that I'll win and even if I do, it's none of your business. It's my life! And if I tell you now you'll somehow convince me that it's the wrong thing to do and I know it's not. I'm sick of listening to you! It's time you learned to take care of yourself." Mark got up to go, then turned back. "Oh, and if you can manage that, then maybe you can teach yourself to care a little about other people too."

~~~**~~~

10:01 AM

Buffalo

It was a beautiful sunny morning. Already hot for so early in the day. Mimi stared out her bedroom window at the small backyard, trying to remember playing back there as a child. Strange, she thought, how she couldn't seem to remember any of the good times anymore. She knew they'd happened. It was hardly like she'd had a tortured childhood. But now it seemed like the only things her memory had preserved were the bad times. 

She sighed and walked over to the mirror, studying herself again. She'd always avoided mirrors as a matter of principle. There was something about them that shattered one's hopes of beauty and showed a picture that was oddly false. She'd never liked her appearance as a child. She'd always been too short and her coarse dark hair had made her the laughingstock of the population of tall, thin, blue eyed and blonde haired monsters that had ruled the halls of the school. 

It was odd, she thought, that she didn't look much different than before. Thinner perhaps, but compared to the difference she felt internally, she'd almost expected to find a stranger staring back at her from the mirror's glassy surface. 

Mimi grabbed an elastic off the dresser top and pulled her hair up into a messy bun, glad to have the weight of it off her neck. It was too hot to worry about beauty. She pulled on a pair of loose jeans and an old t-shirt and went out to look for food, realizing suddenly that she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten anything.

In the time since her father's diagnosis they'd all but managed to avoid one another, only nodding to each other on the rare occasion that they'd bump into one another while doing some task around the house.

As Mimi reached the kitchen, she suddenly became aware of his tall figure watching her from the doorway. She closed up the cereal box she'd been pouring from, then turned slowly to face him.

"Hi."

He nodded in response.

"How're you doing?" Mimi tried again.

He just stared at her for a moment, as though not sure how to respond. Mimi picked up her cereal bowl and carried it over to the couch, sitting down cross legged.

"I know it can't be easy for you."

She took a bite of the cereal, sucking on it for a while. Somehow it seemed wrong to make loud crunching noises.

"How can you know?" he asked roughly.

Mimi resisted the urge to laugh. How could he **not **know? 

"Because. . .I've been there?" she said softly, "I know what it's like to be told your days are numbered."

He looked at her suspiciously.

"It was different for you."

"How?" she asked, surprised at her own lack of emotion. Ordinarily she'd have been yelling long before now.

"You did it to yourself."

Mimi sighed. She was so tired of fighting.

"Look, I realize you want to attack me. Go ahead. I'm not going to fight back. I'm too tired."

He just stared at her, shocked. Mimi almost burst out laughing. This was so completely unlike her and yet it felt right. She was sorry for him. For all the guilt and pain he'd put her through, she was sorry for him. And for the first time in her life, she knew more than him. Was better able to cope. 

Mimi stood up, taking the cereal bowl with her.

"Look, if you want to talk, you know where to find me."

With that, she retreated into her bedroom, suddenly filled with energy. She set the cereal bowl down hard on the desk, not even caring when it sloshed milk everywhere. She sat down on the bed and rolled over until she could reach the phone sitting on the table on the other side of the bed. She picked it up and started to dial the loft, then hesitated, dialing a different number instead.

It rang four times before there was an answer.

"Hello?"

"Collins?"

"Mimi, honey, is it really you?" 

"Yeah." She laughed silently at the enthusiasm in his voice. 

"Are you okay?"

She hesitated for a moment, trying to decide for herself.

"I uh. . .I think so. I mean, no, but I will be."

"Well that's good to hear."

"Yeah. . .I've been. . .doing a lot of thinking and I guess. . ." she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, "It's for the best. I mean. . .I don't know where the money would've come from and. . .It just wouldn't have been a very good way to raise a child." 

Collins sighed.

"Well. . .I don't really know what to say, Mimi. Except that I'm glad you're doing better. And I do agree with you."

"I think maybe. . .Collins this is awful but it was almost like a game. I've always liked being rebellious and when Roger said it was a bad idea I guess I just. . .The minute anyone tells me I can't do something I have to go and prove them wrong."

"I guess I have noticed that about you," Collins laughed awkwardly.

"How are things. . .where you are?"

Collins sighed again.

"Good and bad. Mark entered one of his documentaries in a competition for a grant."

"That's great. Is. . .Roger okay?"

"Depends on your definition of okay. He was drinking. A lot. But then Mark pretty much forced him to stop and now he's just. . .depressed. And angry. Especially at Mark."

Mimi sat down hard on the bed, her chest giving a sharp ache at the mention of his name. 

"God, I thought I'd never want to speak to him again. . ."

"And now?"

"Collins, I need your help. . .I want to go home."

~~~**~~~

Review please!


	30. To No Absolutes

~~~**~~~

Chapter 30: To No Absolutes

June 17th

11:53 AM

Buffalo

Mimi rolled her duffel bag on its side and sat down on it, then attempted to zip it up one more time. This time the zipper worked, but half the clothing inside it fell out through the large hole in the side. 

Mimi groaned and rolled off the bag, deciding reluctantly that she'd have to take her mother up on borrowing suitcases. Somehow her clothes didn't want to fit back into the bags Mark had sent her. It was as if they'd grown since she'd gotten them. Either that or she wasn't as good at folding as Mark.

Embarrassing, she thought, to have a guy be better at house work than she was.

She'd made arrangements to stay with Collins and Aimee until she worked things out with Roger. Mark knew, but she'd asked him not to tell Roger.

"Packing going okay?" her mother asked, sticking her head in.

Mimi looked up sheepishly.

"Umm. . .not exactly."

Her mother laughed.

"What seems to be the trouble?"

"My bag doesn't like my stuff." Mimi pointed to the jumbled mess on the floor. "It keeps spitting it back out at me."

"You know, you never did know how to fold laundry. . .maybe it's time I taught you. God knows I should have. . .and so much more. . .I guess it's too late for that now, isn't it?"

Mimi smiled sadly.

"Yeah. . .I guess it is. But you can still teach me to fold laundry."

They spent the next half hour folding things into the duffel bag which, despite both their best efforts, still wouldn't hold everything. Finally they conceded to using two extra boxes as well.

"So I guess that's it then," Mimi said distantly, surveying their work.

Her mother nodded.

"You sure you'll be okay going back this soon?"

Mimi shrugged.

"I don't know. But I know I have to try. I know. . .that I have to at least settle things with Roger. I miss him but sometimes I think that too much has happened between us. And I still don't know. . .if he's as upset as Collins says he is, he might not even be willing to talk to me. But I have to try. Or else I'll never know."

"And if you can't work things out?"

Mimi sighed.

"Then I guess I'll have to find something else. I really can't think about that yet. . .because if I do. . ." she trailed off and shrugged again.

"Well you're always welcome back here if you need a place to stay."

Mimi shook her head.

"I know. And thank you. But. . .it's time for me to face this by myself. I've done enough denying."

She stared out the window for a moment, then shook herself.

"I'm ready to go."

~~~**~~~

1:54 PM

The Loft

Roger paced back and forth across the living room, his heart racing. The atmosphere in the loft was nothing short of stifling and Roger was drenched in sweat and exhausted already but somehow he couldn't sit still. 

Mark had left nearly an hour ago for the post office to find out whether or not he'd gotten the grant. Roger kept telling himself that things would work out but he couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding that he'd woken up with in the middle of the night.

Roger jumped at the sound of Mark's key scraping in the lock. He grabbed his guitar case and sat down hard on the couch, pretending he'd been there all along. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want Mark to know how much of a mess he was lately. 

Mark entered, carrying a thick brown envelope. Roger looked at him out of the corner of his eye, pretending to play the guitar and hitting more wrong notes than right ones. Mark just stopped and stared at him for a moment, then sighed and went into the kitchen, dropping the envelope on the counter. He rummaged through the closets for a moment then pulled out a large bottle of Absolut and poured himself a shot.

"Where'd that come from?" Roger asked sharply. "I thought you got rid of all the booze."

Mark shook his head.

"Nah. Just the beer. This was too good to throw out. So I just hid it from you. Besides, how am I supposed to stay sane?"

Roger was on his feet in an instant.

"Give me some."

Mark shook his head firmly.

"Nope. Sorry."

"Mark what the hell is wrong with you today?"

Mark sighed, then steeled himself.

"Roger. . .I'm through with this."

"What?" Roger asked, surprised, the anxiety in his chest multiplying ten fold.

"I'm through putting up with your shit. I've given you everything I can. It's time for you to take care of yourself now. You're on your own."

"What?" Roger repeated.

Mark looked Roger straight in the face, his eyes set with an angry certainty that was altogether unfamiliar to Roger.

"I got the grant. I'm going to Syracuse. You're on your own."

Roger just stared at him in shock.

"But. . .but. . .you can't!"

"Roger, I **am**. It's as simple as that. And you're not going to talk me out of it."

Mark turned and walked toward his bedroom.

"Where are you going?" Roger asked loudly.

"To call Aimee. She'll be **happy **for me. God knows, I could use a little support right now."

Roger rushed after Mark, grabbing him forcefully by the shoulder and forcing him to turn around.

"I knew you'd do this!" Roger shouted.

"Do what?"

"Leave me! Everyone fucking leaves me. You wonder why I am the way I am? Maybe because everyone always leaves me! How can you expect me to trust anyone when they always hurt me? I don't want to care anymore! It hurts too much."

"Roger, no one has ever left you. You shut everyone out."

"I do not!" Roger shouted, tears stinging his eyes. 

"Yes, Roger, you do. And all I can say to you is that until you can learn to care about other people as much as you care about yourself, you'll be alone. I can't help you anymore. Not if you're going to be like this. I don't want this to come between us but if you don't give me a choice well then. . ." Mark trailed off.

Roger let go of Mark, shoving him hard.

"I do care about other people. I fucking care too much."

"You only care about what effect other people will have on **you**. Think about it, Roger. Have you thought one moment about what's best for anyone else? Did you think about it April when she wanted to clean up her life? Did you think about it when Mimi told you she needed your help? Are you thinking about it now? Roger, you have a good heart but you need to learn to use it."

Roger stopped cold, his entire body trembling as the realization hit him. Still, he couldn't bring himself to admit it. 

Mark turned back, looking at Roger angrily.

"You know what?" he said harshly, "I can't deal with this. I'm going out."

Mark turned and left.

Roger slid down into a sitting position his back against the wall. He covered his face with his hands, crying silently.

"I don't want to care anymore," he whispered to himself. "I can't."

But he knew deep down that he didn't mean it. Couldn't mean it. Roger stood up and went into his bedroom to lie down, his entire body aching with loneliness. 

A picture of him and Mimi sitting on the dresser caught Roger's eye. 

He picked it up gently and studied her face, fresh tears wetting his cheeks. 

~~~**~~~

Review please!


	31. A Start

~~~**~~~

Chapter 31: A Start

June 25th

4:12 PM

The Loft

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Mimi asked, looking warily up the long staircase leading to the loft.

Collins looked concernedly at her.

"You want to work things out, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then you have to take a chance here. Look, I talked to Roger yesterday and he seemed really miserable. I think. . .you need to take the leap now before it's too late."

"You mean you think Roger would. . ."

"Not necessarily that. But I wouldn't put it past him."

Mimi sighed, then nodded and started up the stairs.

"You okay?" Collins asked softly.

Mimi turned and glared at him.

"Okay, okay. Just thought I'd offer." Collins held up his hands in protest.

Mimi paused at the door to the loft, just staring at it as she tried to find the strength to go in. 

"Need help knocking?" Collins asked coming up behind her.

Mimi jumped slightly then smiled sheepishly.

"Yeah, I guess I do."

Collins knocked lightly on the door as Mimi tried to hide herself behind him. 

Mark answered a few moments later, much to their relief. He closed the door behind him and stepped out, giving Mimi a warm hug. 

"Good to see you again."

"Yeah," Mimi said shyly, "You too."

"Is this an okay time?" Collins asked cautiously.

Mark shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess. You want to come in?"

Collins nodded.

Mark opened the door again and Collins and Mimi followed him in, taking seats around the table in the living room. They could hear the sound of Roger tuning his guitar in the other room. Collins looked at Mark, then went over and knocked on Roger's door.

There was a moment of abrupt silence, then Roger stuck his head out.

"Yeah? Oh, hi Collins."

"You want to come eat with us?"

"Eat what?"

"I don't know. Just. . .come sit."

Roger looked at him suspiciously, then pushed past Collins into the living room. He was halfway to the kitchen when he caught sight of Mimi. Roger stopped in his tracks as though he'd just hit an invisible wall and stared at her in shock.

"Um. . .hi?" he said awkwardly after a few moments.

"Hey." Mimi answered weakly.

Collins went back over to the table and sat down, then gestured for Roger to follow. Roger obeyed after shooting a nasty look at Mark. Mark in turn picked up the stack of papers he'd been reading through and went into his bedroom.

"So." Collins said finally.

"So. . ." Roger repeated.

"Yeah. . ." Mimi said, staring at the tabletop.

Collins elbowed her gently.

"Oh. Yeah. Um. . .Listen, Roger. . .I know I said it's over but. . ." she trailed off.

Roger perked up slightly.

"Yeah?"

"I guess. . .I miss you?"

"Okay."

"And I. . .wanted to talk to you?"

"Okay."

"So. . .how've you been?"

"Wonderful." Roger muttered, "Just fucking lovely. It makes my world so much brighter when my girlfriends try to kill themselves."

Mimi's head shot up at that and she glared at Roger. 

"That's a real good way to start working things out."

"Mimi, I don't know what to say! You leave like you did and then just expect to come back and have everything be okay again?"

"No! That's not what I expect. I just expect to be able to talk to you. Is that too much to ask, Roger? We can't fucking talk about this?"

"Not if you're going to be like this we can't! My God, Mimi, I don't even know what the hell happened!"

"Yeah? Well I do! You had to make it all about you. I don't know why I thought it would be any different. You're still you."

"Guys!" Collins broke in.

They both stopped and looked at him. Collins could practically feel the tension radiating off of them.

"What?" Roger asked finally.

"You want to work this out, right?"

"Yeah." Roger answered immediately.

Mimi glared at him.

"I don't know. I thought so. But now I'm not so sure."

Mimi laughed bitterly and got up.

"Where are you going?" Roger asked sharply.

"I don't know. Away from you. I don't have time to waste on your fucking drama, Roger. Either we talk about this or I leave."

Roger snorted.

"Fine, go."

Mimi looked at him for a moment, her eyes shining with hurt, then turned and hurried toward the door.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait!" Collins called after her.

She spun on her heel.

"What?"

Roger stared at the floor.

"Look, I'm sorry," he muttered finally. "I don't know what I'm saying anymore."

Mimi sighed and sat back down.

"I know, Rog. But that doesn't make it hurt any less."

"Good," Collins said softly.

"What?"

"You're being honest. That's a step in the right direction."

Roger laughed sadly.

"What?" Mimi asked.

"Look at us. . .we can't even talk without a mediator. We'd kill each other."

Mimi offered him a weak smile.

"So. . .what are we gonna do?"

Roger sighed.

"I don't know. Do. . .you really think we can work this out? I know I don't want to go on hurting you. . ."

Mimi shrugged.

"Obviously we can't go on like this. But. . .I don't know if I could forget you."

Roger nodded.

"I know."

"Can I break in again?" Collins asked.

"Yeah." Roger agreed.

"Just a suggestion. I think you two need some time alone."

"Yeah. . .Like what?"

"You still have those tickets to Santa Fe?"

Roger nodded, his eyes lighting up.

"I think it's time you scheduled that trip."

"Okay." Roger agreed enthusiastically. He turned to Mimi. "You agree?"

She looked at him skeptically, wanting to believe that it was that easy but afraid to be hurt again at the same time.

"I don't know, Rog."

"Why not?"

"Well. . .because apparently we can't even sit in the same room and talk without trying to slit each other's throats. Do you really think going away together is going to help? How can we know it won't make things worse?"

Roger looked at her imploringly.

"Look, Mimi. . .I **don't **know that it'll help. Hell yeah it could make things worse but. . .I don't think we really have a better option. Unless you're ready to just give up," Roger said softly, his voice harsh with suppressed tears.

Mimi took a deep breath.

"All right. I'll give it a try. But you have to promise me you'll try too. And I mean **really **try."

Roger nodded firmly.

"Anything it takes. So. . .I'll call and make the reservations today?"

"Yeah."

Collins got up and Mimi followed.

"You're leaving?" Roger asked, disappointed.

She looked back and forth between them for a moment, torn.

"Yeah. I guess. . .I think it's best if we don't rush into this too fast."

Roger nodded reluctantly.

"All right. I'll miss you."

She smiled at him.

"Hurry up and make those reservations."

She went over to Roger and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. Roger moved instinctively to embrace her but she moved away.

"Not yet."

She turned and followed Collins out of the loft, leaving Roger aching with longing.

~~~**~~~

Author's Note: You'll like the next chapter, I promise. I had soooo much fun writing it. And the best part is I already have it so I can post whenever I want . . .depending on how many **_reviews _**I get. Hint hint…


	32. No Day But Today

Chapter 32: No Day But Today

June 27th

4:32 PM

LaGuardia International Airport

The airport was large and crowded and blessedly cool. People were crowding around the gate, filling the few cracked false-leather seats and standing in a long snaky line in front of the closed boarding terminal. Nearby, a young couple was trying to feed a fussy infant. 

Mimi forced herself not to look, concentrating instead on the blurred hands of her watch, trying to comprehend their position. Her mind remained blank, all logical thought drowned out by the torrent of emotions that were struggling to break loose.

"Hey."

A tap on the shoulder made her jump slightly. She turned to see Roger standing behind her, an equally ratty duffel bag slung over his shoulder and their pair of boarding passes clasped in his outstretched hand. 

"Hi."

Roger laughed nervously and handed her her boarding pass as the line suddenly started to move.

"You look. . ." Roger trailed off.

"Stressed? Tired? Awful?" Mimi suggested.

Roger snorted.

"I was thinking more along the lines of. . .breathtaking? Gorgeous? Sexy as hell?"

"Don't try to flatter me."

Roger took her bag from her as they boarded the plane.

Their seats were far from premium. They were in the very back of the plane with backs that didn't recline and were squished between the window and a very large woman who had been lucky enough to procure the aisle seat. Although close quarters might have once been preferable, they made it rather hard for Roger and Mimi to continue ignoring one another.

Mimi claimed the window seat after Roger had refused to take it, saying that she had the right to enjoy the view. Roger grabbed one of the small, papery airline pillows and shoved it beneath his head. He attempted to lean back and ended up hitting his head on the back wall of the plane instead.

"Shit!" Roger exclaimed.

Mimi ignored him, pretending to be completely engrossed in an article about a robotic vacuum cleaner she'd found in one of the airline magazines.

Roger glared at her for a moment, then closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep.

"Don't' you think this would be really creepy?" Mimi asked after a few minutes.

"What?" Roger groaned, opening one eye a crack.

"A robot that cleans your house while you sleep."

Roger shrugged.

"I think we could use one," he cleared his throat awkwardly, "I mean, **I **could use one. I mean. . ." he sighed and gave up, figuring it was best to stop before she started shouting at him again.

"Yeah I know," she muttered.

"Mimi. . ." Roger started, "What's gonna—"

"Look," she cut him off, "Can we discuss this in private? Or are public fights more fun?"

Roger held up his hands in protest.

"No! I mean. . .of course we can. I just—"

"Roger, stop. Just stop. You're only making it worse."

Roger sighed and closed his eyes again. Mimi glanced out the window for a moment, then closed the thin white shade over it and leaned against it, shivering slightly. The dry, over processed air reminded her too much of a hospital. 

The plane hit turbulence and bounced slightly and suddenly Mimi felt dizzy. She heard herself cry out and then felt the weight of Roger's hands on her back and the warmth of his breath on her neck.

"You okay?" Roger asked worriedly.

"Yeah," Mimi whispered, gasping for breath.

"What happened?"

"I-I don't know. Something. . ." she shrugged.

Roger pushed the armrest between them up and out of the way and tried to wrap his arms around her from behind but she pushed him away again.

"Mimi, what—"

"I'm fine," she snapped, "I don't need any fucking cuddling."

"What if **I **do?" Roger asked softly, unable to hide the hurt in his voice.

~~~**~~~

8:27 PM

Santa Fe

The remainder of the flight had gone downhill. An incredibly rough landing had left them both shaken and the heavy traffic on the drive to their hotel certainly hadn't done anything to calm their nerves.

"You hungry?" Roger asked, coming up behind Mimi who was sitting on the bed writing something in a blue notebook.

She shook her head.

"Good. Because I don't think I could eat right now," Roger grimaced slightly, "I don't think my stomach liked that plane food very much."

Mimi looked up at him in disgust.

"That was something I **definitely **did not need to know."

Roger shrugged.

"Just trying to be honest."

Mimi rolled her eyes at him.

"What's with this hotel room, anyway?"

"What?" Roger asked innocently.

Mimi pointed to the single king-sized bed.

"Oh that. It was cheaper."

"Right."

"And I'd hoped we might have things worked out in time to—"

"Stop, Roger. Just stop right there."

"Come on," Roger persisted, "You know you were thinking the same thing or you wouldn't've brought it up."

"Okay. So maybe I was. That doesn't fix anything."

Roger sighed and sat down beside her on the bed, trying to resolve the battling emotions that were tying his stomach in knots.

"Look, Mimi, I've been as patient as I can but I can't take this anymore. It's killing me. If we're going to talk about this, it's now or never."

She looked up at the tiled ceiling for a moment as though gathering strength from it.

"Roger. . .You're not going to like what I have to say."

"I know. I could say the same to you. I'll listen if you will. Or. . .I'll try."

"I know. Roger. . .I realize now I was stupid to try to—do what I tried to do. But. . .what you said really hurt. God, roger, I wanted to die. I know you think I did it to hurt you but I **wanted to die**." She started to cry silently, turning away from him.

Roger sat beside her, trying to figure out what he could say.

"Mimi, I know you think that I didn't want the baby." She flinched at his words, sending a sharp pang through Roger's chest. "It wasn't that. I just. . .I was so afraid. . ." Roger swallowed hard, "God Mimi I need you so bad. And I hate. . .knowing that I can be hurt. I hate getting hurt. I hate it so much that I'd rather hurt someone else first." Hot tears stung his eyes and Roger stopped fighting them, figuring it was all or nothing. "I never realized it until now."

Mimi turned back to him, looking at him thoughtfully.

"I know," she said softly, "I've always known. I just didn't know if you did."

"Mimi. . .I want to try again but. . .I don't want it to be the same as before. And I don't know if I can change the way I am."

She smiled weakly at him.

"I think. . .you already have."

Roger swallowed hard and wiped his face with the back of one hand.

"God, I'm a mess."

o

Mimi wrapped an arm around his shoulders, then leaned in and kissed him, long and hard. Roger pulled her into a crushing embrace, starting to cry again.

"You taste all salty," she said softly, pulling the comforter off the bed. She laid back against the pillows and pulled Roger with her, hugging him again as he started to cry harder.

"I'm so sorry," Roger sobbed, "I know. . .it was my fault."

"Roger. . ."

Mimi tightened her arms around him, burying her face in his tousled blond hair.

"Love me?" he asked after a few minutes.

"You know I do."

"Good."

Roger laughed weakly and shifted so he was lying beside her.

"Feel better?" Mimi asked, running her hand over the soft skin of his forehead.

"A little. Yeah." Roger murmured, kissing her neck. 

"Good."

"Missed you," Roger said softly, his fingers searching for the buttons on her shirt, "God I missed you."

"Roger."

She took hold of his wrist, stopping him.

"Yeah?"

"Are we okay now?"

Roger sighed.

"I don't know. I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

"God, the story of my life."

"Hey, no day but today, right?"

"Right," she answered, curling up against him and closing her eyes. "Roger?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad Collins made us come here."

~~~**~~~


	33. A Little Friendly Business

~~~**~~~

Chapter 33: A Little Friendly Business

July 4th

11:45 AM

Santa Fe

Roger closed the door softly behind him, hoping not to disturb Mimi who had been trying to get back to sleep after he'd left. She rolled over and sat up anyway, as though she's somehow sensed his approach.

"Um. . .hi," Roger said, suddenly feeling shy. 

"Hey." Her voice was soft, drowsy but still full of concern. "I thought you were going out for a walk."

"I was."

"What happened?"

"I. . .got lonely?"

"Roger. . ." she smiled sadly, "C'mere."

Roger stripped down to his boxers, pulled the drapes shut and crawled into bed beside her. He lay with his back to her, clutching a pillow to his chest. He wasn't sure why but he'd been feeling worse than ever since he'd gotten back together with Mimi. As hard as he tried to make everything up to her, she still woke up every night, fragile body wracked by nightmares. And with every new thing he tried, the ache of failure in his chest grew more intense.

"Hey." Mimi said softly, wrapping her arms around him from behind and resting her chin on his shoulder. "You okay?"

"I don't know. . ." Roger trailed off, trying not to cry again.

"What's wrong?"

Roger sighed and rolled out of bed. He walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, then sat on the closed toilet lid. There was so much they had to work out still and he couldn't bring himself to. He heard Mimi pacing in the other room which only served to make him feel worse. Finally, she came over and knocked on the door.

"Yeah?"

"Roger. . .please talk to me. I don't want to push you but. . .at least let me know you're okay."

"What, you mean you're afraid I'll try to do what you did? I'm not that stupid, Mimi."

He wasn't sure why he'd just said that, and it only made him more miserable than he'd been before.

"Roger, I don't want to fight."

She sounded tired, sad. Roger stood up and went back into the other room. Mimi was standing, staring at the closed drapes as though she could see something through them. Roger went up and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Talk." He said reluctantly.

"Roger. . .God, I don't even know where to begin. I mean, where do we go from here? Do I go back to the loft, or should I be looking for a place of my own? I don't even have a job anymore."

She paused, and Roger started to say something, but she cut him off again.

"Are we still engaged?"

Roger dropped his arms and walked away from her, sitting down on the side of the bed.

"I don't. . ."

"You don't want to be." Mimi finished for him, her face falling slightly.

"Mimi. . ."

"I understand," she said flatly.

"Wait," Roger interrupted.

"What?"

"It's not that I don't want to be with you and maybe I *do* want to marry you. I just. . .don't think we're ready for that kind of commitment so soon again after. . .everything."

"So you want to start over?"

She sighed deeply.

"I guess that's only fair. I'm just. . .so sick of all this."

Roger stood up and went back over to her, wrapping his arms around her.

"I love you. It'll be okay. . ."

She looked up at him, her dark brown eyes filled with uncertainty.

"I hope so."

~~~**~~~

9:22 PM

The Loft

"Look, fireworks," Mark said dryly, pointing to the little blobs of static filling the television screen.

"Um, I think it's just a bad signal," Joanne corrected from her seat on the couch.

Maureen snorted.

"**Wonderful **sense of humor, Jo."

Joanne glared at her, which made Benny burst into a fit of obnoxious laughter. Mark sighed and grabbed a bag of potato chips, throwing them on the table. Collins and Aimee were both still absent, despite their promise to be there, and Mark had gotten nothing more than angry hang ups when he'd attempted to call Roger in Santa Fe. He was leaving for Syracuse in one week and he still had yet to discuss it with the two people he loved most. On top of it all, the guests that **were **there seemed capable only of irritating one another. Mark grabbed the still partially full bottle of Absolut and poured himself a fourth shot. He'd hope d to distract himself from his troubles but instead the alcohol was only making him more depressed.

"So Mark," Benny said obnoxiously, "I heard you're finally gonna make some money."

Mark shrugged.

"Maybe. Who'd you hear it from?"

Benny grinned.

"Oh that pretty little girlfriend of yours. What's her name, Annie or something."

"Aimee," Mark muttered, his blood suddenly going cold. "Why were you talking to her?"

"Oh, just some friendly. . .business."

"Benny. . ." Maureen said warningly.

"What? It's not my fault he doesn't keep better tabs on his girlfriend."

"Benny, don't do this again," Joanne snapped, "Why can't you just keep your nose **out **of other people's business?"

Benny just shrugged.

"Guys. . ." Mark broke in, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Because he's got a stick the size of a tree shoved up his ass all the time," Maureen said meanly. "It' s too bad. It would be a hell of a **nice** ass if it wasn't for that."

"Maureen!" Joanne chided.

"Party pooper," Maureen pouted.

Mark poured himself yet another shot, wincing as the alcohol burned the back of his throat.

"Come on buys, just a bit of innocent fun," Benny smirked.

"Oh come on, really Benny," Maureen shot back, "What happened, did you latest bitch dump you or something?"

"Nah, I always make sure I do the dumping first."

"Why don't you go **take **a dump," Maureen retorted lamely.

"Both of you stop or shut the hell up!" Joanne shouted suddenly.

Maureen glared at her and opened her mouth to say something but the phone rang before she could get any sound out.

Mark practically dove for the receiver.

"Hello?" he answered breathlessly.

"Mark?"

His heart sped up at the sound of Aimee's voice.

"Yeah. Where are you?"

"Mark, I need you to come here. Quickly."

"What happened?"

"Mark, just get here. Tom is sick. Really sick."

~~~**~~~

Dun dun dun….


	34. New Beginnings

Author's Note: Wow it's been a long time. My play is opening in three weeks. ::looks at schedule and faints:: So yeah, that's pretty much my only excuse for the lack of updates in the last week. That and my new Wicked fic which is taking a lot more energy than I expected. ::glares at uncooperative characters:: So yeah. Please forgive me and enjoy this chapter. And go read my new fic please!

~~~**~~~

Chapter 34: New Beginnings 

July 9th

8:11 PM

The Loft

"Are you sure about this?" Mimi asked as Roger struggled to unlock the door of the loft. The large box in his arms was making it difficult, along with the fact that the lock had rusted in the recent rain.

"Yes, I'm sure," Roger muttered, his voice tense with concentration. He shifted the box under one arm and jiggled the key. "I think Mark must've had the locks changed on me."

Mimi frowned.

"Roger, you know he wouldn't do that…"

Roger rounded on her, glaring.

"Like hell he wouldn't. He's already made it clear enough he doesn't care."

"Roger, look. I don't want to fight. This is between you and Mark."

Roger sighed heavily.

"Yeah, I know. I just wish…why can't things just be normal again? I don't know what I'm gonna do when Mark leaves…"

"Well, you can start by telling him that," Mimi suggested.

The lock made a disturbing crunch noise, and the door swung open a crack. Roger swung the box back into his arms and kicked the door open wider, then walked in. He set the box down on the table and inhaled deeply, suddenly realizing that he'd missed the old musty smell of the loft. 

"What do you have in that thing, anyway?" Roger asked, pointing at Mimi's box.

"Clothes."

"God, I never thought clothes could be that heavy," Roger muttered, massaging his arms.

"Whiner," Mimi laughed. "You know you're glad to have me back."

Roger grinned and wrapped his arms around her waist. 

"Yeah. I could do without your clothes though…." 

"Pervert."

Roger kissed her and she slid her hands up under his shirt, rubbing his back. Roger moaned softly and buried his face in her neck. 

They were interrupted by the sound of the lock crunching a second time and the door opening. Roger looked up just in time to see Mark and Aimee walk into the darkened living room. Mark stopped short as he caught sight of them.

"Well. Uh…welcome back, I guess."

"Yeah." Roger muttered grudgingly, looking at the floor.

"I'll uh…take this…display…to mean that you had a good trip?" Mark said awkwardly.

Aimee elbowed him in the ribs.

"Ow."

"Yeah," Mimi answered, disentangling herself from Roger's arms and going over to give Mark a hug. Roger glared at her but didn't say anything. "It's good to be back."

"Does that mean you're moving back in?" Aimee asked.

Mimi nodded.

"Yeah. At least for the time being."

There was an awkward silence after that, in which Roger started trying to tear up the tape on Mimi's box and Mark searched for something edible in the kitchen. 

"So…how were things here while we were away?" Mimi asked finally.

Mark's face fell at that.

"Bad."

"How so?" Roger asked, suddenly interested.

"Tom is sick." Aimee said softly. "Really sick."

"What happened?"

"I…don't really know. He said he wasn't feeling well and then all of a sudden he started coughing and then just…passed out. He's in the hospital. The doctors say…he doesn't have much time left."

"How long?" Roger asked.

"Six months. A year, maybe."

Roger sighed and looked around the loft, his eyes searching for some unknown target. 

"Are you still going to leave?"

Mark sighed, then nodded.

"God, Mark, how can you do this?" Roger asked, suddenly angry.

"I have to, Roger. My being here isn't going to change anything. If I take the grant, I'll at least have a chance at making some kind of difference."

"Depends on who you care about," Roger muttered.

"What?"

"It makes a difference to **me **whether or not you stay."

"Roger, don't do this," Mimi said quietly.

Roger turned and glared at her, then turned back to Mark.

"Do you even care that you're abandoning me?"

"Roger…" Mark said softly, "I can't deal with this right now."

He turned to Aimee and took her hand, turning her towards his bedroom.

"Come on, help me pack."

The two retreated into the bedroom, leaving Roger staring after him. Roger sighed deeply and sat down on the couch.

Mimi followed him over and sat down beside him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders.

"Roger…"

"I can't take any more of this, Mimi."

"I know, love, I know."

She ran her fingers through his shaggy blond hair.

"You and Mark just need to talk about this calmly."

"I know. I just feel like…everything's falling apart."

"Maybe. Or maybe it's just a new beginning."

~~~**~~~

::Re-Reads chapter:: Ugh. Sorry about that…I'll do better next time, I promise. Review anyway? ::looks pitiful::


	35. Storms and Shadows

Author's Note: This chapter was inspired by the AWFUL Florida weather today…That and the fact that I thought it was about time for some humor. Just so everyone knows, this chapter is dedicated to **Mo **and her Idina hair. =P

~~~**~~~

Chapter 35: Storms and Shadows

July 23rd

12:34 PM

The Loft

"Hey, guys?" Maureen called from her seat in front of the television. She was staying with Roger and Mimi for the weekend while Joanne was away on business. Collins had moved in two weeks previous after Mark and Aimee had left fir Syracuse. Roger and Mark still weren't speaking. Maureen glanced down at the set of drug store acrylic nails she was trying to apply, then looked back up at the television. "Guys!" she called again, louder this time.

"What?" Roger groaned, emerging from the bedroom. His hair was badly tousled and his shirt was inside out.

Maureen giggled, causing Roger to look even less pleased with her.

"Sorry to interrupt you—er—afternoon nap, but I thought you might want to see this." She pointed to the television, where a bored-looking news anchor was giving a weather update. 

Roger watched for a moment, then called for Collins. The professor appeared in the doorway a moment later with Mimi close behind him. Collins raised an eyebrow questioningly at Roger.

"There's gonna be a hurricane," Maureen said cheerfully, interrupting Roger.

"When?" Mimi asked, looking slightly alarmed.

"Tonight."

"So…what are we gonna do?" Roger asked.

Maureen looked at Collins. 

"You've got money, right, Col?"

Collins nodded and Maureen bounced to her feet.

"And I've got Joanne's credit card," she said grinning mischievously. "Come on, let's go buy stuff."

~~~**~~~

1:17 PM

"So…what are we supposed to buy?" Roger asked, surveying the long, colorful aisles of the supermarket.

"Things that don't spoil," Mimi said knowledgeably. 

"And that would be…"

Maureen rolled her eyes.

"The stuff that you can still eat after it's been lying around in your kitchen for three weeks, genius," she told him.

Mimi snorted.

"Whoa, Maureen, you don't want to tell him that," she warned, "He'll eat just about anything that isn't green and furry…and then some."

Roger shot her a disapproving look.

"Oh, come on, Rog, you know you love me," Mimi said, winking at him.

"Do I?" he asked teasingly.

Mimi narrowed her eyes at him.

"Say it."

Roger grinned and took a step backwards.

"Or you'll do…what?"

"Say it."

Mimi crossed her arms over her chest and began advancing toward him. Roger stepped back and grinned defiantly.

"No."

Mimi tackled him, pushing him back against the wall and tickling him until he was bright red and gasping for breath.

"Okay, okay," Roger said at last, "I surrender."

"Say it," Mimi insisted.

"Fine," Roger muttered in mock reluctance, "Fine. I love you."

Mimi smiled sweetly at him, then leaned in and kissed him.

Maureen cleared her throat loudly, causing Roger and Mimi to turn and look at her in embarrassment. 

"Um…guys?" she said.

"Yeah?" Roger asked.

"Do you think we could shop now?"

By the time they were loading the groceries into Maureen's old bubble-gum pink car, the afternoon was getting darker and black clouds were gathering in the sky.

~~~**~~~~

8:58 PM

"Checkmate," Collins said for the third time that night, his voice completely deadpan.

"Damn!" Maureen whined, slamming her fist down on the table and sending the small, black and white pieces skittering across the linoleum floor.

Maureen pulled the hair tie out of her long brown curly hair and shook her head. Roger flinched and moved away from her on the couch.

"Why do women always **do that**?" he asked irritably.

"What?"

"Try to take men's eyes out by tossing their heads around like that."

Maureen giggled.

"I don't know. But this is really, really bad hair weather."

Roger snorted.

"No, she's right," Mimi said, emerging from the bedroom and sitting on Roger's lap.

Rain was pouring down outside in buckets, splattering violently against the window panes. Every now and then the wind would send a piece of debris hurtling into the walls or windows.

"Well, one good thing," Collins said idly.

"What?" asked Maureen.

"You don't have to clean the windows for a while."

"Good," said Mimi, "because it wouldn't have gotten done anyway."

There was a loud crash from somewhere outside the building and the lights flickered and then went out entirely. Maureen shrieked and then dove to the floor her hands over her head. 

"Calm down, Mo, it's just a storm," Roger muttered.

"So…now we have nothing to do. It's too dark to see anything," Maureen sighed and climbed back up onto the couch beside Roger and Mimi. The loft was dark and shadowy, bluish in the light of emergency floodlights on the next building over.

"Wait just a second," said Collins, his words followed by the sound of him stumbling around in the dark loft, knocking things over as he searched for something. A moment later he mumbled, "Here it is," and they were blinded by the yellow beam of a flashlight. 

"Great," Maureen muttered sarcastically, "One flashlight. And now everything looks funny," she giggled, "Whoa, Roger, are you feeling okay? You're all covered in green spots…"

Roger rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around Mimi. They sat in relative silence for a few minutes, the only sound in the loft the muffled clicking of Maureen tapping her fingernails impatiently on the aluminum surface of the folding table. 

"Hey I know!" Maureen jumped up suddenly and grabbed the flashlight from Collins.

"Whoa, whoa," the professor cried.

"Take it easy, Col, I'm just **borrowing **it."

"Remind me to say no next time she asks to borrow something from me," Roger said, earning him a jab in the ribs from Mimi. "Ouch."

Maureen pointed the flashlight toward the ceiling and began wiggling her fingers in front of the light.

"Hey, a shadow puppet!" said Roger sudden recognition. "What is it?"

"It's a cow,!" said Maureen indignantly.

"I don't see it." Said Collins, earning himself a venomous glare.

"Hey, Mo, can I see that for a second?" Roger asked.

Maureen looked at him suspiciously, then handed over the flashlight. They all burst into laughter as the shadow of Roger's hand flipped them off.

~~~**~~~

Review? 


	36. Soap Suds and Straightening Irons

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. The writing of this chapter was made extremely um…*interesting* by a couple of Wicked characters that kept jumping into my head in the middle of it…::glares at Elphie and Yero:: 

Anyway, in the interest of coming full circle again, I've decided to go back to using random suggestions…how *did* that stop in the first place…::ponders:: On that note, here's what was used in this chapter:

Quote: Provided by **Goddess of Ivy**

Activity: washing dishes (suggested by both **Mo** and **Mari** so I guess I'll give ya both credit for it…=P)

Object: straightening iron (provided by **Mo**)

~~~**~~~

Chapter 36: Soap Suds and Straightening Irons

August 1st 

7:37 AM

"This isn't working," Maureen whined, closing one eye and frowning at her reflection in the mirror.

"Well, what do you expect?" Joanne asked, neatly rolling her curling iron through her dark hair. "You paid…what, ten dollars for it? And why do you want to straighten your hair anyway? I thought you liked it curly."

Maureen dragged the iron through her hair again, making comical faces at herself in the mirror.

"What can I say, I'm cheap."

"You can say that again," Joanne muttered.

"Hey!"

"It was a joke, Mo."

"Well it wasn't funny. And I *do* like my hair curly. I just want to look neat for my audition today."

Joanne snorted.

"You. Neat. Since when have you cared about looking neat?"

Joanne finished curling her hair and unplugged the iron. Maureen continued to struggle with her unruly brown curls, only succeeding in making her hair into a fluffy brown frizz ball.

"Since now. And *it* *won't* *work*."

She bounced on her feet a little, punctuating each word. Joanne smirked at her in the mirror.

"Well, you know what they say…when life gives you lemons…when the going gets tough…"

"The tough make lemonade!" Maureen interrupted excitedly.

Joanne rolled her eyes.

"Yeah. I suppose you could say that."

Maureen grinned. She finally gave up on the straightening iron, pulling her long hair back into a bun and covering it with globs of hair gel, then began putting on makeup. Joanne continued to roll her eyes as she watched Maureen apply dark green eye shadow.

"So you think I'll get this job?" Maureen asked.

Joanne threw up her hands hopelessly.

"How should I know? I've told you a million times, Maureen, I'm not a theatre person! And besides, I can't win. I'm putting my life on the line regardless of what I say. If I tell you I think you will and then you don't get it, you'll hate me. If I tell you I don't think you will, then you'll kill me on the spot."

"You don't think I'm good enough," Maureen said sourly, zipping up her purse and glaring at Joanne. Joanne glared back.

"See?" she said irritably.

"No. I don't see."

Maureen turned and walked out, slamming the door behind her.

Joanne sighed and glowered at her reflection in the mirror.

"You're right," she said softly, "You don't see. But maybe you would if you'd just take the time to look."

~~~**~~~

2:33 PM

The Loft

"Roger!" Mimi called. "Hey, Roger!"

When she got no answer, she sighed loudly and blew at a small soap bubble that had gotten caught on one of the tendrils of hair that was hanging in her face. It was sweltering in the loft and although she'd just taken a shower, Mimi felt like her clothes were plastered to her skin. Roger had been getting on her nerves all morning, refusing to get out of bed and then up off the couch where he'd been watching television, and the large pile of dirty dishes she'd found in the sink that had been left after one of Roger's "Guys' Nights" was doing nothing to help her mood.

Collins, smart man that he was, had agreed to help Joanne organize her office for the afternoon and had thereby managed to escape the lack of air conditioning in the loft.

"ROGER!" Mimi called again.

He appeared a moment later, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, his face covered in crease marks from the bed sheets. He yawned and stretched, groaning loudly.

"Yes?"

Mimi rolled her eyes.

"Come help me with these," Mimi answered, forcing herself to be patient.

Roger sighed and went over to stand just over her left shoulder, watching silently as she continued to wash the dishes.

"Roger…"

"What?!" He asked defensively.

"That's not helping."

"Well what do you want?"

"Help! You know, where you do something that makes the job a little easier for the other person?" she snapped.

Roger grinned then, his entire face lighting up.

"Oh, *that*! How about you wash, and I'll dry?"

Mimi sighed again.

"I'll take whatever I can get, I guess. My God, Roger, how did you manage while I was gone?"

"Oh, easy, I made Mark do all the housework." Roger frowned slightly at the sound of his name.

Mimi snorted.

"Why am I not surprised by that…"

"Hey! I work…sometimes."

"Oh and when would that be?" Mimi asked dryly.

"When…um…"

"Exactly."

Roger grabbed a gray dishtowel off the counter and rolled it carefully, then snapped it at Mimi, neatly catching her backside.

She shrieked in surprise, then rounded on him, hands on her hips.

"You are so dead."

"Wow, really?" Roger asked in mock surprise. "I wonder how many lives I have left."

Mimi groaned and leaned back against the counter, roughly brushing her hair back off her forehead.

"What?" Roger asked innocently.

"You drive me crazy, did you know that?"

"Yeah, I guess I did. You look hot."

"No kidding," Mimi grumbled, wiping her forehead with the back of one hand, "It's only about a hundred degrees in here."

"I didn't mean like that…"

"Ah. Well, now I see where your mind has been all morning. No wonder you've been so wonderfully productive."

Roger snorted loudly and Mimi rolled her eyes at him.

"God, grow up."

"You know, I'm not entirely sure I like the new you…You used to be a lot more fun before you got all responsible."

Roger grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her against his chest, removing the dishrag from her hands. She giggled.

"I can still be fun. Just not when you're acting so…"

"Romantic? Suave? Dead sexy?" Roger suggested.

"Male," she said finally, as though the word itself were an aberration.

Roger laughed and kissed her.

"I thought you liked masculinity. Come on, be fun. The dishes will still be there in an hour or two. I on the other hand will have gone completely and totally insane."

Mimi quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I thought you did that already. Roger, no, it's too hot."

"*Too* hot?"

Mimi groaned.

"Roger…"

He pulled away suddenly and dashed over to the refrigerator.

"I can fix that."

"What are you doing?" Mimi asked warily.

"Fixing your hotness…heat? Not that it needs fixing but if you insist…"

Roger grabbed a handful of ice out of the icebox and dropped it down the back of her neck.

She screamed, then grabbed a handful of soapy water from the sink and flung it at him.

Roger scooped Mimi into his arms and held her threateningly over the sink.

"Cooled down enough yet?" he asked, grinning mischievously.

Mimi grinned back, then kissed him.

"If you insist."

~~~**~~~

Random thins I want for the next chapter:

Quotes

Activities

Places

Random Objects

REVIEW PLEASE!


	37. A Good Guy

Author's Note: Ok, I didn't use any random stuff this time because…I'm a bad person. Lol. Sadly, there is a very big chance that this will be my last update for about a week and a half, seeing as how my show is opening and I'll be at school 13 hours a day most days. So yeah…there might be one more, but in case there isn't…look for me then. ::is sad::

~~~**~~~

Chapter 37: A Good Guy

August 30th

12:22 PM

The Loft

"Have you heard anything from Mark?" Joanne asked warily, wincing at the look Roger gave her in response.

"Yes," Mimi answered, glaring back at Roger, "he called last week. He said the work was great, and he sounded like he meant it."

The group was gathered in the loft, waiting for Maureen to return from the interview that would determine whether or not she'd gotten the job. There was a knock at the door, and Joanne jumped up to answer it, assuming it was Maureen. Instead, she was greeted by the sight of a grinning Benny. He was dressed in dark slacks and a crisp white shirt, and holding a red rose.

"And you would be here…why?" Joanne asked sourly.

Benny grinned obnoxiously.

"Just here to see how your lovely lady faired in her audition."

"To scoff, you mean."

Benny threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Why does everyone seem to think I'm the villain around here?"

He laughed at the look Joanne gave him.

"Oh, what the hell," she said at last, "come in. But I reserve the right to throw you out at any time if you start causing trouble."

Benny shrugged.

"Fine by me." He took her hand and kissed it. "I'll make sure to be on my best behavior."

Benny pushed past her and Joanne shut the door behind him, wiping her hand in disgust.

"Hey, guys," she called, "look what I found. I guess the garbage collectors forgot to come here this morning."

Benny waved to the group, then plopped himself down beside Roger.

"So," he began, but he was interrupted by another knock on the door.

"I'll get it," Roger said eagerly.

No sooner had he opened the door then Maureen bounded in with a squeal and nearly knocked him down with a flying hug. Roger caught her with a grunt and carried her into the living room, dropping her unceremoniously on Joanne's lap.

"Hey!" she shrieked, shaking her fist at Roger.

"So," said Joanne," she's smiling. "Does that mean she got it?"

Maureen gave her an odd look.

"Why are you talking like that?"

Joanne shrugged.

"I don't know…Did *you* get it?"

Maureen grinned and nodded.

"Ensemble."

Benny went over to her and gave her the rose.

"Congratulations…What was this role again?"

"Hairspray," she answered proudly, "I'm in the ensemble of Hairspray."

"Does that mean you won't need your straightening iron anymore?" Joanne teased.

Maureen stuck out her tongue.

"Shut up, Miss Ivy League. I have a *job* now."

Roger snorted.

"Well…that's more than the rest of us can say."

~~~**~~~

September 2nd

7:43 PM

Syracuse

Mark looked at the storyboard he'd laid out on the floor and raked his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit that had resurfaced since he'd moved. His apartment was small, but large enough for two people to comfortably inhabit. The bedroom was the main room, with a small kitchen in one corner. There was a small bathroom and an equally small living room that Mark had converted into a dark room. After years of living in the loft, it felt very much like paradise.

Mark rearranged the pictures and sighed. Either way would probably look good, but he couldn't decide which would be more affective or which one he liked better.

"Hey, stranger," Aimee grinned, returning from her last class of the day, "Is it going any better?"

Mark groaned and shook his head. He'd spent so long dreaming of producing a real documentary that he hadn't even thought of what he'd do if he ever actually got the resources. He was due to begin filming in two days and he was still agonizing over the order of the first sequence. He'd always hated decision making.

"I'm sorry."

She kissed him on the cheek. Mark stood up and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"I love you," he murmured.

Aimee grinned up at him.

"Good, because there's something I've been wanting to ask you."

Mark raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Will you marry me?"

"What?" Mark asked again, reeling with shock.

"Will you marry me?" she repeated, laughing at him.

"Isn't that my line?"

"Just answer."

"Yes…?" Mark burst into amazed laughter.

"What?" Aimee asked, her eyes shining with amusement.

"Nothing…just…I never thought I'd get married…much less that my girlfriend would ask *me*."

She kissed him again, still laughing.

"You're a good guy. Like I said before, you're a dork, Marky…but I love you for it."

~~~**~~~

Review please!


	38. In the Dead of Night

Author's Note: All right so…I lied. This story isn't going to be 45 chapters after all. I had a plot line that said it would be, but then things got combined and…well…yeah. I think there are about three or four chapters left so enjoy what's still there to enjoy and keep reviewing. I'm really kind of sad…but…not…I've been working on this fic for such a long time I also want to finish. All right…enough rambling from me…go read…and don't hurt me.

~~~**~~~

Chapter 38: In the Dead of Night 

September 29th

3:22 AM

The Loft

_The car was speeding down the highway at an alarming rate. Huge rain drops and sharp little pieces of hail pelted the roof and windshield, creating a delicate spider web of cracks in the thick glass. There was a bend in the road and suddenly the other car appeared, seemingly from nowhere, moving at an impossible speed. Roger grabbed for the steering wheel, desperate to get out of the way, but it had vanished. In its place was an open white hallway, looming in front of him, stretching out, widening. At the end it became a waiting room, bright, filled with the metallic scent of disinfectant. There were men in uniforms everywhere. Then the windshield reappeared and there was the other car. It struck a glancing blow, but the sound, the explosion of shattered glass never came. Instead the car spun away, faster and faster, until Roger felt that he was flying. Images floated up out of the clouds that were now in front of the car. Bars, cheap cigarettes, gallons and gallons of alcohol. And the needles. Thousands of rusted needles. Roger felt a sting in his arm, the familiar burning sensation. He glanced down and was horrified to see one of them embedded in his arm. As he watched it changed before his eyes into a needle drawing blood from his veins. He looked back up and found that the car had vanished. In its place was an office, a hospital room, and a man dressed all in white. Roger gasped as he began to speak._

_"I'm sorry, sir, but I have some bad news for you."_

Roger woke with a start, drenched in sweat, his throat raw from screaming. Although they were becoming less frequent, the nightmares only seemed to grow more and more intense. He took a deep breath and sat up.

Mimi was standing at the window, arms crossed over her chest, her back to him. It was raining outside, no, pouring was a better word for the gale that was slapping against the old windows of the loft. Every few seconds the room was lit by a flash of lightning and a piece of hail hit the glass with a small "ping."

"Did I wake you?" Roger asked softly.

Mimi shook her head without turning.

Roger sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing as his bare feet hit the cold floor.

"Yes I did. You don't have to lie to me."

"Roger…all right, you did."

"I'm sorry."

Roger got up and went over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. She turned in his embrace and put her arms around his neck.

"Don't apologize." She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled his head down onto her shoulder. "I just wish there was something I could do. Talk to me?"

Roger shook his head against her shoulder and swallowed hard.

"I can't."

Mimi sighed and rubbed his back gently.

"Roger…I think maybe you should consider seeing a therapist," she said softly, her voice apologetic. She knew her words would not be well-received. 

Roger stiffened and pulled away just as a flash of lightning lit the room in eerie black and white shapes. He stood in the corner facing the wall and pressed a hand to his forehead.

"No," he said finally. "No, I'm fine. I'm getting better."

Mimi walked over and sat on the bed.

"Roger, you're not. You need help. At least admit it to yourself. Since Mark left—"She shrugged helplessly. "I feel like I hardly know you anymore. You spend all day either sleeping or drinking until you pass out. Then you're out all night and when you are home you have these nightmares all the time. I've tried not to say anything, but don't think I haven't noticed."

Roger turned, suddenly angry.

"I'm *fine*. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Roger—" Mimi tried again, but Roger was determined to ignore her.

"I don't want to talk about it!" he shouted, trembling.

Mimi stared at him, disturbed by the sudden outburst. She took a deep breath and let it out shakily. 

"All right. Fine. We won't talk about it now." Her voice was soft, filled with defeat.

Roger sighed.

"Come on, let's go back to bed."

Roger climbed into bed and pulled the blankets up over his head. He tried to put his arms around Mimi but she pulled away and refused to let him touch her.

~~~**~~~

4:23 AM

Joanne's Apartment

Maureen shut the door quietly behind her and slipped off her leather jacket, wrinkling her nose at the smell of cigarette smoke and sour beer that clung to her clothes. She would have to take a shower or Joanne would notice. She walked quickly into the bathroom and shut the door, then pulled the band out of her long curly brown hair and shook her head wildly, laughing at her appearance in the mirror.

She'd meant to come straight home after her show, but as always, it hadn't worked out that way. A group of her fellow ensemble members had decided to go to a nearby bar and bonding was important to a show's success, Maureen told herself.

And there was Jason. Tall, with dark shaggy hair and green eyes, the star of a successful Broadway show and entirely too interested in Maureen for his own good. She knew she was leading him on, but it was too much fun to pass up. Maureen turned on the water in the bathtub and grabbed a bottle of purple passion-flower shower gel from the shelf and poured it into the bathtub, inhaling deeply. 

The sound of the door flying open and smashing into the wall behind her made Maureen jump. She turned around to find Joanne standing behind her, her features arranged in a characteristic glare. Maureen smiled sweetly, then stuck out her tongue at Joanne and turned back to stare intently at the growing mass of soap suds in the bathtub.

"You want to explain this?" Joanne asked testily.

Maureen snorted.

"You ever hear of privacy? You know, that thing where you don't just randomly walk through a closed door without knocking?"

Joanne laughed condescendingly.

"I'm pretty powerful if I can walk through a closed door. Next thing you know I'll be walking through walls, too…and developing x-ray vision."

Maureen turned and glared at her, but Joanne wasn't finished.

"You know, that might be a good thing, actually. At least then I could always keep an eye on you. Not that it would stop you from doing exactly what you please."

"Oh, is *that* what this is about?" Maureen asked, feigning boredom.

"It's not every night that I wake up to find you taking a bath at four thirty in the morning."

"My show ran late."

"That's *awfully* late for a seven o'clock show."

Maureen shrugged.

"Telling you that I didn't do anything *obviously* isn't going to do me any good here, so I really don't see why I should even bother. If you don't trust me, then there's no point in trying."

Joanne laughed meanly.

"*Trust* you? You don't know the *meaning* of the word!"

"Fine. Fine. Believe what you want!"

Joanne turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. 

Maureen dipped her hand in the bathwater and inhaled deeply, lost in the buzz of alcohol and the memory of Jason's lips on her neck.

~~~**~~~

REVIEW PLEASE!


	39. Halloween

Author's Note: Wow…for those of you who saw the typos earlier. Sorry. I typed the whole chapter really fast because I didn't think I'd be home tonight…and…yeah. Sorry. ::blushes::

~~~**~~~

Chapter 39: Halloween

October 31

3:31 PM

The Loft

"I don't see why he has to come here," Roger grumbled, glaring at the stack of dirty dishes that had accumulated in the sink from the morning's breakfast. "He was too good to be here for the rest of us, why should this be any different?"

Mimi glared warningly at him.

"Roger…can you just let be for today? You know Collins doesn't have much time left, and this can't be easy for him as it is. The last thing any of us needs is you picking a fight with Mark."

"He's bringing it on himself!"

"Roger! I swear to God if you start anything today….I don't know what's gotten into you lately. This should be Angel's day. Can't you forget about being angry with Mark for *once*? Please, Roger, ignore him, give him the cold shoulder, I don't give a damn! Just don't start a fight."

Roger sighed.

"Mark doesn't deserve any favors."

"Then don't do it for Mark! Do it for Collins…and for me."

Roger stared at the floor for a long time, his demeanor softening noticeably.

"Fine." He went over to Mimi and kissed the back of her neck. "For you. And Angel. I'll be good."

Mimi grinned and tousled his hair as if he were a small child.

"Good. Go get dressed. Everyone will be here soon."

She snapped a dishtowel at his backside as he turned to leave. Roger laughed and flipped her off over his shoulder. Mimi sighed and turned back to the sink, a quiet sadness descending over her like a fog. It was only two years since Angel had died, and already so much had happened. So much had changed.

Collins had wanted for everyone to be together, had wanted to visit Angel's grave. But a damp, clammy cold had come in sometime during the night and with Collins' rapidly declining health, a trip away from the loft was out of the question. As though sensing her thoughts, Collins emerged from the bedroom, coughing.

"Morning," Mimi greeted, going over to give the professor a hug.

"Hey," Collins sounded tired, older somehow.

"Mark and Aimee should be here soon," said Mimi, attempting to cheer him up at least a little. "And Maureen and Joanne."

Collins nodded, but didn't say anything in response. As if on cue, there was a knock on the door, and Mimi ran to answer it. Collins smiled a little when she returned with Mark and Aimee following. They exchanged hugs and warm greetings with the others. Mimi went into the kitchen to finish the dishes. She was surprised when Mark followed.

"How's Syracuse?" she asked casually, looking thoughtfully at the soap bubbles forming in the sink.

"Good," said Mark, "Stressful. Mind-boggling. Frustrating."

Mimi raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

"I love it."

Mimi smiled at him.

"I'm glad. You deserve to be happy, Marky."

"And you?" Mark asked.

Mimi jumped slightly at the question. Somehow she hadn't been expecting it.

"What?"

"Are you happy?"

Mimi shrugged.

"I guess. Listen, Mark, whatever Roger does today…just ignore it. I'm apologizing in advance. I have no idea what's up with him. He hasn't been himself ever since…" she trailed off and shrugged.

Mark nodded slowly.

"Is he still angry with me?"

Mimi sighed.

"He's angry with the world. I don't know what to do about it anymore…He needs help, but if I so much as try to *suggest* it, he flies off the handle."

Mark put an arm around her, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I don't know, Mimi. You can't force Roger into anything he doesn't want. If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that. I guess the best you can do is just wait and see. He'll come to his senses eventually."

Mimi smiled a little.

"You really think so?"

"He always has before."

"I hope…" 

The doorbell rang again, and Joanne entered, alone. At the same time, Roger appeared from his bedroom, a sour look on his face. An uneasy silence fell over the room.

"Where's Maureen?" Roger asked at last.

Joanne sighed angrily.

"God knows. Not that I *care.*"

"You broke up?" Aimee asked, sounding surprised.

Joanne nodded.

"When?" asked Mimi, "What happened?"

Joanne shrugged.

"A month ago. She ran off with some guy from her show."

"Oh, honey, why didn't you tell us?" asked Collins. "I mean, I knew we hadn't seen much you two lately, but I assumed you were just busy."

"It's okay," Joanne said firmly. "It's better this way. It had to happen eventually."

She went over and sat down on the couch, ending the discussion. Another awkward silence descended, in which Mark and Roger eyed each other warily.

"So." Said Mimi, attempting to start another conversation. No one else spoke, but Roger went over and put his arms around her protectively. Mark sat down on the couch next to Joanne and pulled Aimee onto his lap. She turned around and looked at him expectantly. Mark cleared his throat.

"Um…we have some news."

"Do tell," prompted Collins.

"We…uh…"

"We're getting married!" Aimee interrupted excitedly.

"Congratulations!" Collins exclaimed, going over to kiss his sister on the cheek.

Fender stuck her head out from behind the couch and mewed loudly, as though offering her own sentiments. Everyone laughed.

"So," Collins said when the laughter had died down again. "It's exactly two years today since Angel…passed. Mark…would you start the film?"

Everyone sat down around the table in the middle of the room and grew quiet. The tradition of watching Mark's documentary on the anniversary of Angel's death had been started the year before.

They were halfway through the film when they were interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Mark got up and went to answer it. After a few moments during which a muffled conversation could be heard, Mark returned, followed by Maureen and a dark haired man the group had never seen before. A collective stir went through the room, and Joanne got to her feet. Maureen smiled sweetly at her.

"Hello all," she said loudly, "This is Jason. We've been together for a month now, I figured I ought to introduce you." That said, she grabbed Jason's arm and led him over to the couch. She motioned for him to sit, then sat down beside him, putting an arm around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. Joanne continued to stare. After a moment, Maureen turned around again and glared at her.

"What? Problem, Pookie?"

"You *dare* to waltz in here like that, trailing your new…*prize* behind you like a dog," Joanne spat, "On today of all days, and you expect us to just be *okay* with it?"

Maureen shrugged.

"Nobody *else* seems to have a problem with it."

"Get out. Both of you."

"I don't believe this is your house."

"It doesn't matter. Leave."

"You have no right to make me."

"Out!"

"Forget it, bitch."

"Stop!" Collins shouted finally, getting to his feet. "Just stop it, both of you. Or leave. I refuse to let your petty arguments ruin this day. What would Angel think if she could see us now?"

Maureen and Joanne sat back down. Mark and Roger glanced at each other guiltily. The group lapsed into the guilty silence of broken friendship as the end of Mark's film played on the old, static covered television.

~~~**~~~

Wow…wasn't that nice and depressing…review please!


	40. To Change

~~~**~~~

Chapter 40: To Change

November 27th

9:06 AM

The Loft

"I don't think there's any worse feeling in the world than finding out a guy only wants you for sex," Maureen said miserably, banging an egg brutally against the bowl she was holding. The shell immediately cracked into a multitude of fragments and spilled onto the counter instead of into the bowl. "Shit."

Mimi tossed a towel over to Maureen and sighed. The men had gone out in search of an early Christmas tree on Collins' insistence. Mark and Aimee were back in town again, although Roger was still refusing to acknowledge their presence. There was no sign of Joanne, and Jason had been missing since the end of the previous night's show despite the fact that he'd promised Maureen to accompany her to the annual Thanksgiving dinner.

"Maureen," said Aimee carefully, "you haven't even talked to him in three days. How can you know that that's what this is about?"

Maureen huffed loudly and demolished another egg. This time however, both the shell and the egg white ended up in the bowl. 

"Great," Maureen moaned, "Just great. I think I must be cursed." She sighed melodramatically and went over to sit on the couch. It made a loud groaning noise, and a spring popped through the cushion next to her.

Mimi and Aimee exchanged an exasperated look, then went over to Maureen. 

"Maureen," Mimi tried, "Don't take this the wrong way but…Were you sure about this guy?"

Maureen buried her face in her hands and shook her head.

"No…no, of course not. I'm never fucking sure of anything! Why do you think my life's such a wreck?!"

"Well…if you weren't sure…then why did you leave Joanne?"

"Because I'm a stupid fuck up who can't ever say no to anyone!" Maureen screamed.

Mimi sighed in exasperation. At this rate, everyone would kill each other before the Thanksgiving dinner was even cooked. She took a deep breath and told herself that getting angry at Maureen never helped anything…though it always happened.

"Calm down, Maureen," said Aimee, sitting down beside her on the couch. "Talk to me rationally."

"It's not possible," Maureen sobbed, "I don't think I know the meaning of the word."

"Then….just talk to me. At a normal volume. You know, use your indoor voice."

Maureen glared at Aimee.

"I'm not in preschool, you know."

"Could've fooled me," Mimi muttered under her breath.

"What?!" Maureen shrieked.

"Nothing," Mimi said quickly.

"Just think about this, Maureen," Aimee tried again, "were you really happy with either one of them?"

Maureen sighed again, but she sat up a little and wiped her face with the back of her hand, leaving dark streaks of eye makeup on her cheeks. 

"No…but…I'm not happy alone either. But I'm not ever happy with anyone. But…I don't like being lonely."

"Okay…so…why aren't you happy with anyone?"

"Because…I don't know. I guess…I get bored too fast. And then I end up hurting them." She started to cry again. "I don't want to hurt anyone…I never mean to. It just…happens. It's like an addiction. I do things and say things without thinking…no, I do think, I just can't help it. And then I wish I could take it back and of course I can't. Everyone thinks I'm some kind of manipulative scheming bitch…I'm not! I swear to God I'm not. I just…don't know what to do…"  Maureen trailed off and started to sob.

Mimi climbed up onto the couch beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. 

"Maureen, I believe you but…if that's true…then I think you need to tell everyone that. Especially Joanne."

"She won't believe me," Maureen said miserably.

Mimi shrugged.

"Maybe not. But at least it's a start."

"But if she doesn't believe me…it doesn't make any difference if I tell her."

"Yes it does," said Aimee, "because at least then you'll have admitted it to yourself."

Maureen sniffed loudly and blinked at Aimee.

"You know…you should be a psychiatrist."

~~~**~~~

6:17 PM

Roger attacked a piece of blackened turkey with the ferocity of a wild animal tearing up a carcass. He was all too aware of Mark staring at him from across the table, and Collins watching them both. The dinner was less-than spectacular. The turkey had ended up overcooked due to the distraction of Maureen's emotional meltdown, and there was a noticeable lack of eggs in the stuffing. 

"So," said Mark carefully, choking a little on an undercooked carrot. "How are things here? It's been awhile since we last visited."

"Got that right," Roger muttered under his breath.

Mark sighed loudly and put his fork down with a loud "clank."

"Roger…if you've got something to say to me, just *say* it."

"I don't have anything to say to you, Mark. That's the thing. You don't belong here."

"Roger, you're being ridiculous. I realize you were upset when I left, but I had no idea you were going to take it to such a ridiculous extreme! For the last time, get it out of your head that I did this as a personal motion against you. Everything's not about you, Roger! For God's sake, I did this for myself. Now if that's such a crime in you mind, you need to rethink the laws of your universe because the only friend you'll have at the end of your life is yourself."

Mimi slammed her hand down on the table, making everyone jump. Mark and Roger both turned and glared at her.

"Can we ever just have a peaceful dinner here anymore? Is there even a *point* to trying to do things as a group? Every time we're all together we degenerate into a bunch of gibbering fighting…animals! What's happened to us?"

"Mimi…" Roger said, sounding embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to start a fight."

"That's not enough, Roger."

"I said I was sorry!"

"It's not enough to be sorry every time! It still *always* happens. Until you're willing to stop this from happening, being sorry can't help anything."

Roger stood up, pushing back his chair with a loud scrape on the linoleum floor.

"Fine. Then I'm leaving. Wouldn't want to interfere with anyone else's good time."

He turned and walked away. From the other room they could hear the sound of angry guitar chords. 

Mimi sighed.

"I didn't mean for him to leave like that…I just wish…he'd grow up."

Mark nodded slowly, then cleared his throat.

"Well what I was going to tell you is that I've decided to film my documentary here in the city. That means I'll be back here for the next month and a half. I'll try to talk to him."

Mimi offered him a weak smile.

"Thanks."

Collins cleared his throat loudly and raised a glass of cheap red wine.

"Happy Thanksgiving. To change."

Everyone echoed Collins as they clinked their glasses together.

~~~**~~~

Review please! Two chapters to go…


	41. Twas the Week Before Christmas

~~~**~~~

Chapter 41: 'Twas the Week Before Christmas

December 15th

4:19 PM

The Loft

The garland wouldn't stick. No matter how much tape Roger used, how hard he hit it, how dirtily he swore at it, it wouldn't stick. Finally, he punched it, in a last, angry attempt to make the tape take hold on the stained, peeling wallpaper of the loft.

"Déjà vu," came a voice from behind him. It was Mark's voice.

Roger sighed loudly, and hit the garland again as it fell, out of pure anger this time.

"Come to gloat?" muttered Roger.

"Not unless you want me to," returned Mark. "Need help?"

"Not from you," Roger grumbled.

Mark shrugged.

"Okay…in that case."

He switched on his camera, aiming it at Roger, who was still attacking the garland with an almost violent fervor.

"Close up," he narrated, "as the independent fool meets with failure once again, the direct result of his refusal to accept help."

Roger rounded on him immediately, the garland falling to his feet.

"Shut the fuck up, Mark!" he yelled.

"I wasn't talking to you," replied Mark, fed up with Roger's stubborn determination to cling to his old grudge and anger. "Roger, do you *enjoy* being angry?"

Roger gave the garland one last attempt. He plastered it to the wall with so much tape that it looked like some kind of weird plastic object, then took a step back from the wall. There was a loud ripping noise, and the entire thing fell down again.

"Damn it!" Roger nearly screamed at the wall. He sat down hard on the couch, his head in his hands, fighting back tears.

"Roger…" said Mark carefully, "I don't want to demean your frustration but…it's just a garland. This is hardly a life and death matter."

Roger glared at him, red-faced.

"It's a matter of pride," he snapped, then realized how stupid that sounded. There was a moment of embarrassed silence, but then Roger started to laugh. Before long, they were both laughing uproariously, slapping the sofa cushions and each other's shoulders. The sofa made an awful groaning noise, and the spring that Maureen had dislodged several weeks ago flew up and hit the ceiling, then came back down and landed on Mark's head, making them both laugh even harder.

Finally, they both collapsed against the back of the couch, shoulder to shoulder, breathless.

"Still mad at me?" Mark asked teasingly.

"Yes," grumbled Roger, but his voice shook with laughter. 

"Liar," said Mark.

"I'm not talking to you," Roger pouted.

"Roger…If I wear your First Rate Asshole shirt, *then* will you talk to me?" Mark asked.

Roger started to laugh again.

"All right, all right…I forgive you…on one condition."

"What's that?" Mark asked warily.

"That we never have to talk about this again…because…I forget why I'm mad at you now. And it feels stupid."

Mark snorted.

"No kidding."

Roger cuffed him on the shoulder.

"Don't push it."

"Good God, are they actually speaking?" Mimi asked in mock astonishment as she came in the door, "Mo, hurry up before you miss it!"

Maureen bolted into the room, a dizzying blur of hair, black leather, and cheap perfume. She stopped a few steps into the living room, and sat on Mark's lap. He grunted in surprise, and flushed bright red as she smiled up at him.

"Holy shit, what happened to her?" Roger asked Mimi, kissing her lightly.

"I am officially a free woman," Maureen answered proudly.

"Meaning…"

"I had lunch with Joanne. And…settled things. Well, sort of."

"Maureen…I think her throwing the salt shaker at you was a pretty definitive answer. She's not going to want you back," said Mimi dryly.

Maureen sighed and nodded.

"But at least she understands now. Or at least I tried to make her."

She sat still for a second, then looked back at Mark.

"So. I'm available now. Sure *you* don't want to take me back, Marky?"

Mark coughed uncomfortably. Mimi went over and tapped Maureen lightly on the shoulder.

"Uh..Mo? I hate to break this to you, but he's officially off-limits once he's engaged."

Maureen giggled obnoxiously.

"I know. I was just testing him. If he'd said yes, it would've gone straight back to Aimee in about two seconds flat."

Mark laughed awkwardly.

"So…how's the decorating going?" Mimi asked, trying to break the awkward silence.

Roger pointed to the garland, which was once again lying on the floor.

"It beat me," he whined in mock defeat.

This set Roger and Mark off into fresh spasms of laughter, earning them odd looks from the women. Roger got up and picked the garland up off the floor, peeling the old pieces of tape off it. He turned and looked at the others.

"I need someone to hold, and someone to tape. Volunteers?"

"Not me," said Mimi quickly.

Maureen climbed up on the sofa and put both hands on the top of Mark's head.

"Maureen…what the hell are you doing?" Marked asked incredulously.

"Surveying the wall."

"Umm…right," said Roger.

"Have I ever told you you look exactly like a cat?" asked Mark, looking up at Maureen.

She gave him an odd look.

"I'm not exactly sure how to take that…"

"I wouldn't, if I were you," said Mimi.

"Are you saying I'm hairy?" Maureen asked indignantly.

"No! I meant…a human cat?"

"Mark, stop while you're ahead," said Roger. "And could you guys *please* help me with this?"

It took all four of them to get the garland taped to the wall, as well as nearly a whole role of tape. When it was finally over, they stood back to admire their work.

"It looks…" Mark trailed off.

"Really ugly," said Maureen.

Mark grabbed the tape-dispenser out of Roger's hand.

"What are you doing?" asked Maureen as she watched Mark pull off a long piece of tape.

"You'll see. Close your eyes, it's a surprise."

Maureen narrowed her eyes at him, but then obeyed. Mark stuck the tape over her mouth, then made a run for the bedroom while Maureen chased after him, squealing loudly. 

Mimi turned to Roger and kissed him on the lips.

"It's good to see you laughing again."

Roger grinned idiotically.

"Yeah. It is. Isn't it."

~~~**~~~

Review please! NEXT CHAPTER IS THE END!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!


	42. What Binds the Fabric Together

Author's Note: Okay, so here it is…the last chapter. Honestly, I didn't think I'd get here. I've never written anything this long before, and the only stories I've ever finished have been much, much shorter. The improv idea was good but, well…it didn't quite happen. Oh well. It was fun while it lasted. 

This will be my last long RENTfic, probably my last altogether. I'm still writing fanfics, but my obsession is more focused on Wicked now…So, thanks to all the RENTheads who have read my fics, and I hope you'll continue reading the stories I am working on.

A special thanks to my team of moral support people who have listened to me whine and given me more fic help than I have a right to…you all should really be listed as co-authors: Liv, Mo, Risa, Mari, Jan, Amy, Liz, Sunny, and Katie. And anyone else who reviewed…I love you all. 

And if you've stuck with me this long…you can actually read the end of my fic.

Much love to all,

Michelle

~~~**~~~

Chapter 42: What Binds the Fabric Together 

December 24th

11:02 PM

The Loft

"December twenty-fourth," Mark narrated, panning his camera across the room, "eleven PM. It's snowing out. No, not snowing, blizarding."

"Mark, there's no such word," Maureen interrupted from her seat at the table. 

"Too bad," said Mark, still holding the camera. "Moving on. The gang's back together again, whether we like it or not. I kind of wonder sometimes if we even have a choice in the matter. It's like we all gravitate toward this place against our will somehow. Maybe somewhere in the subconscious that we can't even see, we're all connected by invisible bonds of fate." Mark paused for a moment. "Or maybe we're all just hopeless romantics who can't leave the past behind. Wow…and I don't even *believe* in fate." Mark switched off his camera and shook his head. "I swear, I don't know where words like that come from sometimes."

"That's why you need to get out from behind that thing more," said Maureen. "It's taking over your brain." She grabbed a napkin and dramatically crumpled it up, making a very loud, very exaggerated "squish" noise. "That's your brain. That's what your camera is doing to it."

Mark rolled his eyes at her and sat down at the table. Today it had been set up in the middle of the room, with every free chair or other piece of furniture it was possible to sit on pulled up and crowded around it. Everyone had met in the loft, even Joanne, for the annual Christmas tree decorating and general party. Maureen had brought along materials for making what she referred to as "real" Christmas tree ornaments, and they were all currently her captives at the table as she attempted to instruct them.

Maureen held up a piece of paper and a glitter-glue stick, and began attempting to squeeze some of the glitter out. The glue stick, however, had other ideas. All it would oblige her in doing was making awful noises that made the rest of the group dissolve into uproarious laughter.

"Wow, Mo," said Benny, who had succeeded in making something that looked at least a little like a Christmas tree ornament—a circular piece of paper covered in red sequins, "you seem to be really gifted at this art stuff." He snickered obnoxiously, earning him an acid glare from both Mimi and Maureen. 

Roger got up from the table and went over to pet Fender, who was sitting in one corner looking lonely. He picked her up and carried her over to the table, grunting with the effort.

"Hey, Mimi, your baby's not so little anymore. She's getting…um…burly?"

Mimi giggled and pulled the cat onto her lap. Over the past year, Fender had grown to be one of the largest, fattest cats anyone had imagined possible.

"Are you calling my cat fat?" Mimi asked indignantly.

"Um…no?" Roger answered cautiously, leaning down to kiss the back of her neck.

Mimi giggled and smacked at him playfully.

"Hey!" Roger protested, "I carry your cat all the way over here for you and I don't even get a kiss?"

Mimi quirked an eyebrow at him.

"A kiss would be fine. Slobbering down my neck however…is not fine."

Benny burst into laughter at that, a little too loudly. Everyone gave him an odd look. Roger sat back down beside Mimi and put an arm around her. Fender stretched out across both of their laps.

Mark picked up his camera again and started to turn it on, but then stopped himself and put it back down.

"What?" asked Joanne, who had been quiet all evening.

"I was just thinking…how much has happened. How much has changed. It seems like…it's never easy for us."

Mimi nodded.

"I agree…maybe there's some kind of…I don't know. Something out there that keeps testing us."

"Or maybe there isn't," Collins interrupted, "Maybe life is what's hard. And maybe we're lucky to be here at all. I don't really think it's how long, or how well you live your life, but maybe…maybe it's how much love is in your life."

"I know…" said Roger slowly, "It's just…it seems like something's always trying to ruin us. I mean…how much more of this is our little group going to be able to take and still be together?"

"There's a happy thought for you," muttered Maureen.

"Well, we're still together now," said Joanne. 

Everyone turned and looked at her.

"What? We are. We've had our share of fights and accidents and illness and…everything imaginable in just the last year. And look at us. We're still here. And we're still together. And I really don't think there's anything that can change that, fate or otherwise."

A silence fell over the room. Maureen got up slowly and walked over to the old, smudged window, recently patched with duct tape after a stone had been thrown at it from the street below. 

"What?" Roger asked. "What do you see?"

"Come look."

Slowly, one by one, the group got up and went to stand behind Maureen. The storm had mostly died down, except for a few clean, new looking snowflakes that fell in gentle showers every few seconds. A full moon shown out over the street, transforming the normally gray, dingy looking city into a shining white paradise. 

"It's beautiful," Mimi said, wrapping an arm around Roger's waist.

"It's a sign," said Maureen in her most mystical voice.

"Of what?" asked Mark.

Maureen shrugged.

"I don't know. But it is. It's a sign that…that nothing's certain. And that anything can happen. For us…for anyone. That life will go on…and tomorrow will be another day…and we have to go on anyway and try to be as happy as we can."

Everyone turned and gaped at Maureen.

"What?" she said uneasily, "What?"

"Are you still…you?" asked Roger.

"Yeah…"

"Where did that come from?"

"The same place Mark's narrations come from. Come on, it's Christmas. We have to at least do something to act like it." She put up her hands and beckoned to Mark and Roger. Each of them took one of her hands, and the others followed suit until they were all standing in a circle holding hands. Outside, the snow continued falling, and the full moon shown down onto the empty New York street. 

~~~**~~~

Well…that's it. ::cries:: Seriously, this has been awesome. Thanks for reading, and if you're still sticking with me at this point…I bow down to you.

One last review? Maybe?


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